


Letters I've Written, Never Meaning to Send

by dramaticinsanity



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Asexuality, Background Relationships, Bondage, Coming Out, Crack Treated Seriously, Drinking, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Frenemies, Friendship, Frottage, Gender Non-conforming Characters, Gratuitous Swearing, Homophobia, Light dom/sub undertones, Lingerie, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Past Abuse/Child Abuse, Mentions of Past Torture, Minor Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Moral Ambiguity, Oral Sex, Over-Stimulation Kink, Patronus Charm (Harry Potter), Pining, Platonic Love, Precognition, Prophetic Dreams, Queerplatonic Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Queerplatonic Relationships, Questioning, Rarepair, Rimming, Self-Harm, Severus Snape Lives, Sirius Black Lives, Time Skips, Top or Bottom? I don't know her, Trans Character, crack ship, headcanons, partial Epistolary, possible anachronisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29639727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaticinsanity/pseuds/dramaticinsanity
Summary: “The past can’t be changed, but we can make a better future.” In which seeing is different than knowing, and knowing is just the beginning.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Lucius Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Comments: 17
Kudos: 21





	1. Exquisite

**Author's Note:**

> MIND THE TAGS~
> 
> So many tags. I swear they’ll be relevant. I’m sorry. FYI> I am American. I proofread myself, and I did not exhaustively research britishisms and slang beyond what my memory or a quick google search could serve me. I probably didn’t catch myself on all blatantly American idioms and spelling - for the purpose of atmosphere. 
> 
> There’s brief attempted non-con in the first chapter only. Not between any ships, and the perpetrators are faceless/nameless and never mentioned again; assume it’s dealt with behind the scenes. 
> 
> In the Wizarding side of Britain, apparently 17 is considered ‘of age’ but no. Not good enough for me. I feel like even 18/19 is even pushing it a bit, which is somewhat addressed in later chapters. They do get physical when Ron is shortly over 18 - if that still bothers you just don’t read it. I fully understand why this can still be uncomfy for some people.
> 
> A clarifying point, nothing happens between Ron and Lucius before Ron reaches adulthood. Ron has feelings, but Lucius in no shape or form has romantic/sexual attraction Ron prior to him being an adult. He also isn’t possessive, obsessive, or manipulative. This also isn’t a redeemed-by-love type of fic. This is utterly, utterly self indulgent though, so at times it's overly expository as I am simply pouring my own obsession and headcanons into the words.
> 
> The story itself plays loose with canon, mostly because my memory is terrible and reading wiki articles for a long period of time gives me nausea. Book and movie canon have likely been mixed up, in addition to whatever I decide to throw in to suit my purposes (e.g., where the dark mark is located, changes to how Patronuses work). Also actual fucking LGBT characters (aside from the main ship obv) who get to be happy, that’s all, goodnight.
> 
> There are “scenes” as well as letters that are invoked in thought and dialogue that are not actually shown. Hopefully it isn’t too confusing, but I’m not going to correct this. Use imagination, if necessary.
> 
> In this house almost no one gets bashed. We can love Slytherins without bashing Gryffindors, let’s go. Also haters of Snape because he just “wanted to bang” Lily go home, in this house we acknowledge deep love can exist without lust. I really don’t care if it was written that way or not - many of the author’s decisions I’ve decided are stupid, which I’ve elected to ignore.
> 
> If you made it this far without clicking x, congratulations you can read the fic now.

“Excuse us, young mister Weasley.” 

Ron whips around. Immediately, Draco shoulders past him with some muttered thing or another - Ron barely notices and doesn't flinch. He's fascinated. There's no other word for it. The owner of the more polite voice seems to tower above him. Ron notices he has perfect robes, perfect hair, and pale blue-grey eyes. He has seen this man before, but this is the first time he’s truly _looked._

It's odd to him, to see a man with hair that long. An old fashion, perhaps? Ron vaguely notices a woman beside him as well, her gaze harsh. Her expression is pinched and severe. Though she is silent, the man almost seems to stand in her shadow.

He knows of them, Draco's parents. He's heard their names - Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. _Lucius._ He rolls the name around in his head. In the bookshop, he’d mostly watched Harry, Hermione, Draco, or his father as Mr. Malfoy had spoken to them. He mostly remembers how his father shoved Mr. Malfoy into a bookshelf, but he hadn’t fought back. Realisation hits as Mrs. Malfoy's eyes narrow the same moment Mr. Malfoy clears his throat. He hastily steps aside, brushing into Harry.

“I cannot imagine how you achieved seats in the Top Box, Arthur. Surely your house couldn't fetch that much?”

Ron can't _actually_ hear his father grinding his teeth, but it's a near thing. The Malfoy and Weasley rivalry is legendary - yet Ron has never heard exactly the reason for its existence.

“Do enjoy the game.” The remark is directed at everyone except Arthur. The Malfoys slip by and position themselves as far away as possible while still having a nice view.

A moment later, he hears Draco not subtly grumble something derisive - surprisingly, he is reprimanded by his father for rudeness. “Do not _boast,_ Draco. It would be wasted on them…”

He figures Mr. Malfoy is trying to maintain some kind of reputation - despite blatant suspicions of his prejudices and being a dark wizard, he doesn't seem particularly _loud_ about his opinions - not on the same level as Draco.

*** 

Everything is chaos.

“Harry? Mum? Dad?!”

As people stampede around in a panic, Ron can't find anyone. He gets thrown to the ground, dazed for a moment. He manages to scurry to the edge of the crowd, suddenly finding trees before him. He had gone further than he realized. There are screams nearby. His heart is pounding, and he can scarcely breathe. He crouches behind an abandoned tent, hearing distorted voices.

“Come on, leaving already? Haven’t you been craving a spot of fun, L? It’s only begun!”

“Is it necessary? The Dark Lord is gone. _Just get on with your lives.”_

“This is my life, L.” 

“If you’re looking to spend the rest of it in Azkaban, perhaps.”

Ron peeks around the tent and nearly bites his cheek. There were two figures in black hooded robes. One of them was yanking on another’s arm, but they refused to budge. Ron scrambles to his feet and takes off running, almost blindly. There’s a flash overhead, and a serpentine sigil appears in the sky. He doesn’t see that he’s been approached.

“Over there.”

“Hey there... did you get lost?”

He barely gets a good look at the two men before he feels a hand in his hair pushing his face to the ground. All that he can tell is they seem like average Quidditch attendees - none of the Death Eaters are in sight.

“Hold still. It might hurt less.”

Rough hands paw at his clothes. He squirms and grabs his wand. A hand twists his wrist, causing him to yelp and let go before he can brandish it. He's contemplating how he can get enough leverage to bite, scratch, or use an elbow when one of them gasps. He gets somewhat loose and sees matching looks of horror. One shoves the other, and they take off running, despite getting wands at the ready.

He feels dizzy and sick to his stomach. He notices his trousers are nearly off, and his pants are slightly down. He makes an attempt to fix the situation, shakily pulling out his wand to face whatever frightened those men.

Ron barely glimpses someone looming in the Death Eater garb before he loses consciousness, uncertain if he will -

He opens his eyes to white and blue, with a few soft greens. It's blinding. He blinks a few times. His throat is dry beyond belief and his wrist is throbbing. It feels like he's on a bed, or something similarly soft. He sits up and rubs his eye with the other hand. He freezes at the next sight.

Sitting across from him in a fancy white chair is Lucius Malfoy. His hands are rested on his knees, and he is staring at the wall. Did he fight off the Death Eater? Or did the Death Eater think he was dead or not worth the bother of maiming and killing?

He weakly croaks, and Mr. Malfoy's eyes snap to him. He wraps his hand around a goblet of water sitting on the table behind him. He slowly leans forward and holds it out. His fingertips are barely attached to the cup, and Ron quickly takes it, afraid that it might fall. Mr. Malfoy's hands drop back to his knees. Ron gulps down the water and sighs.

“Do you understand what happened?”

Ron blinks at him. “...What?”

“What do you remember?”

“Um. Two guys... went after me I think? No idea who they were, but they didn't look like You-Know-Who's types,” Ron says. He glances down at his wrist, which is a concerning shade of purple-ish. “There was a Death Eater... did you fight him?”

The corner of Mr. Malfoy's mouth twitches. He doesn't respond, and Ron isn't sure what to do with that. However, he does explain, “Those men intended to violate you. They wished to perform... intimate acts. To do so on an adolescent, an unwilling, is unspeakably foul.”

Ron releases a shaky breath. It made sense. Something in him _did_ know - felt the wrongness, the horror of it, but at that time he was running on panicked adrenaline. “Erm. Well. Thank you?”

“For what? I don't need gratitude. I didn't seek it.”

“I mean ahh - you could've just left me there. I know you and my dad aren't exactly…” Ron waves his hand.

Mr. Malfoy inclines his head, appearing to understand what he means. “Be that as it may, you are innocent in those matters. I shudder to think if it was my own son, and how I'd feel if Arthur had simply... _left him behind.”_

His voice dips lower than usual in the last few words, and a strange shiver travels up Ron's spine. “Oh.”

“Just so you are aware, we are still in my tent. My wife and son have already gone home. I'm afraid I - I could not track down your parents without leaving you unattended.”

Ron gapes. This is a _tent?_ He should've expected this, given how filthy rich the Malfoys are. Draco certainly doesn't let anyone forget it. He closes his mouth, not wanting to openly gawp for long.

“If you are agreeable I can take you to the manor,” Lucius says. “You can stay in the garden while I send an owl to your parents... and hope to Merlin, that Arthur doesn't wish to tear my limbs asunder merely for being in proximity to you.”

Ron's eyes widen.

“Is it that bad?” Then, “Er. Sure, I guess.”

“I doubt you will believe it, but the antagonism is more from Arthur's side than mine - I feel as though I have no choice other than retaliate in defense, and that only seems to worsen his ire.”

Mr. Malfoy slowly stands as though not to spook him, and Ron trails after him outside the tent. Ron takes a moment to process that all. Malfoy collapses the tent and appears thoughtful for a few seconds before offering his elbow. “We will apparate. It will be quite uncomfortable, and you may... retch. Kindly avoid my person.”

Ron nods. He grazes Mr. Malfoy's elbow with his fingertips and slightly curls his fingers. For some reason, touching him feels like he's holding finely spun glass - the kind that is so exquisite it's an insult for him to even look.

Mr. Malfoy eyes him, sensing his unease but coming to the wrong conclusion. He murmurs, “I wouldn't harm you. Your... _side_ of it may think what it likes about me, but I'm not a monster - well, I try not to be one.”

His voice is like honey, and his gaze, though hard, isn't unkind. Even though he probably shouldn't - it's easily possible that Mr. Malfoy _was_ that Death Eater, he isn't _that_ stupid - he feels an odd sense of security.

Then, he feels like he's sucked into a vacuum. He doesn't vomit, but his stomach feels like it's in his throat, and he can't seem to control his limbs. He would probably have flopped over in a pile like a forgotten mop if Mr. Malfoy hadn't been quick to hold fast to his arm and steady him. He gasps and clutches his stomach, hand shaking.

“I know. It will pass, young mister Weasley. Come along.”

They pass through a gate into the most expansive and luxurious garden he has ever seen. Paths with beautiful arches seem to swerve in every direction. There are too many plants, herbs, and flowers to identify, along with an array of various birds. He also thinks he glimpses reptilian magical creatures; a rooster with the wings and tail of a dragon, a towering serpent made of rainbow feathers with bare, elongated jaws, and copper-tinged snakes with three heads on one body slinking between the hedges.

His eyes catch on a sombre sight - a small cemetery. However, pink roses grow wildly between the tombstones. Trying to focus on something other than the flips his stomach is still doing - his eyes catch on the two foremost stones. Extending respectively from the tops of the left and right are a rearing bear and a rearing horse. They almost seem to be reaching out to each other. The roses grow more prominently and thickly around those two than any others. He can't see the names.

“It's so dark,” Ron complains, inanely. He expects to be ignored or even scoffed at. However, Mr. Malfoy slides his wand out.

There's a flash of white, then an ethereal animal appears, taking the shape of a small dog. The Patronus is stout, with a somewhat squashed muzzle, and perked, slightly rounded ears. Despite its almost humorous build, the Patronus holds itself with poise and struts forward, lighting the way. In a way, it's a mesmerising sight.

Mr. Malfoy pauses halfway past the graveyard. The Patronus somehow flops _gracefully_ beneath a bundle of roses. As though sensing Ron's attention, its head turns to him, the head tilting as though trying to figure him out. They are close to a tombstone that Ron can make out - _Rosaline Malfoy née Eklund. Beloved. Daughter of Dragomir & Maralyn Eklund. Married to Abraxas Malfoy, mother of Lucius Malfoy. Do not be beholden to the grievances of others._

“Ah.” Mr. Malfoy must notice where he's looking. Ron averts his gaze, flushing. “The nosiness of Gryffindors is familiar to me, so I will have pity. My mother died when I was only twelve - but we were rather close. If the rivalry in our families could be pinpointed, it could be said to have started with her - though it is in no way her fault.”

Ron is surprised by this. He knows Mr. Malfoy and his dad are enemies - but it goes back even further? “What happened?”

“Septimus Weasley was enamoured with my mother when they were young, though the families weren't particularly close.”

“She- was she a Slytherin?”

“Hardly. She hadn't gone to Hogwarts. The family had only recently returned to Britain after living on the main continent for many generations, but they met through some connection to do with Quidditch.”

“He didn't get very far, did he?”

There's a slight airy noise from Mr. Malfoy that could be a chuckle. “No. He was much too subtle in his courting. My father Abraxas... he was bold, ambitious... and he rather charmed the trousers off her parents. That's what courting was about back then- you get in with the family, they practically beg you to marry into it.”

Ron nods - he's heard his parents griping quite a lot over “Pureblood Traditions” and their various distastes toward most of them.

“Septimus never let it go, naturally. Your... ancestry I'm afraid, are famous for their astounding ability to hold grudges.”

“How does that make you and my dad enemies? Seems a bit weird to even hold on that long,” Ron questions.

“It is merely a catalyst -” Mr. Malfoy hums. “I have forgotten myself, though I suppose it's good you've had time to recuperate and not look completely ragged - less cause for Arthur to complain. I will be a moment.”

In a swish of robs, he's off. Ron settles on the bench. His eyes flick again to the tombstones at the other end, but he would rather not test Mr. Malfoy's unexpected patience by being even nosier. After a few minutes, he discovers a peacock walking near him, and it pauses to look at him with a tilt of its head.

“Hello there? Aren't you gorgeous?”

He reaches his hand out then retracts it, having no idea how tame or friendly the bird is. Mr. Malfoy reappears like a wisp of smoke and scoops the bird into his arms. The creature doesn't protest or struggle. He unceremoniously, yet gently, sets the bird in Ron's lap. His lips part in surprise, and he is careful in stroking the bright blue plumage.

“They are indeed. It's a tad eccentric, I admit, but I have... an affinity for birds, especially the exotic sort,” Mr. Malfoy admits. If Ron didn't know better, he almost sounded self-conscious, as though it were an embarassing secret.

Though it's a total non-sequitur, Ron asks, “Is it normal for you to call each other by your first names? You and my dad. I mean, Harry and I don't get along with your son and we call him Malfoy. Is that an adult thing?”

He probably sounds stupid. However, Mr. Malfoy smiles with apparent amusement. “It's more ironic. I... had friends in the family that married into his. We were acquainted in a friendly enough way before…”

“Before what?”

“It would be remiss of me to put your father in a bad light - I'm certain it would only seem as though I'm attempting to remove the blame from my shoulders.” He continues, “That is not the case. I am not wholly innocent, but he…”

Ron leans forward, catching Mr. Malfoy's eyes.

“Your uncle, Gideon, and I were seventeen and still in Hogwarts when Arthur and Molly were wed. Gideon saw fit to invite me of course.”

Ron's eyes practically bug out. “You were friends... with a Gryffindor?!”

“As I have told others, most Gryffindors were not like _him._ We were friends prior to Hogwarts, because the Prewetts were one of the highly regarded Pureblood families, so we met at a young age. The... aggression between the two houses spiked _after_ our class graduated, as it happens.”

“Wow, okay. So...?”

“Abraxas found out, and saw fit to invite himself. He did not... trust me.”

“Trust you with what?”

Mr. Malfoy has an expression as though he's sucked on a sour lemon for a flash, then it's gone. “He believed, left to my own devices with handsome young men from more... so-called rebellious families, I'd be - well I’d be a - a shirt lifter.”

Ron raises his eyebrows. He's baffled by the amount of stuttering at first - the nervousness is restrained, but it's there. “A what?”

“I suppose you may be too young to understand... he didn't want to neglect watching over me in the event that I ran off with a man. Ah, romantically, that is.”

Ron furrows his eyebrows now. He's... _heard._ Of course, he's heard. It just seemed like a far off notion that went a bit over his head when he caught bits and pieces of hushed conversation.

“Why would he think that?”

Mr. Malfoy's nostrils flare, and he lowers his head. Some of his hair slides over his shoulder, and Ron has the absolute strangest urge to push it back in place. “Because I liked birds and flowers and took ages to choose my robes. Because I charmed many girls and did not date them. Because I doted on my closest male friends as though they were the reason the sun rose in the morning. Because he was a controlling arsehole? Take your pick.”

Ron snorts at that, and hearing Mr. Malfoy swear is like hearing a caged canary sing. Somehow that image slots perfectly in his mind. Why is he telling Ron all of this? Does he usually talk to young near-strangers about his life?

As though he's read his mind, “I can't fathom why I'm telling you all of this. Boredom? I suppose. Anyway, it wasn't long before Septimus and Abraxas got into a spat. I wasn't present for the start of it but…”

Mr. Malfoy sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. He continues, “I can't remember the exact wording, but Septimus _strongly_ implied that because Abraxas had weak genes and fathering skills, his line would end with me - _also_ implying that I was - well. That I wouldn't be having a wife and children.”

Ron just stares, listening intently. He can't help but wonder - is it true? As disgruntled as he sounds, he hasn't exactly debunked that he is into men that way. Ron is still distantly trying to wrap his head around it - two men? How does that even work? For some reason, he wants to find out.

“What happened then?”

“While I was silent with abject horror and wishing to dissolve into the floor, never to be seen again - Gideon, brave and foolish Gryff that he was - spoke up for me. His sister quickly sided with him. The rest of the Prewetts were well out of earshot, not interested in the drama.”

“I don't blame them. It sounds awful.”

“Beyond. However, Septimus Weasley didn't give a single flying broomstick about what they had to say - in those times the relationship between a man and his son and heir held a lot of weight - the younger generation could move mountains if they dared stand against their parents.”

The direction of this seems as obvious as his next move on the chess board often is, when he's playing. “He looked to my dad for his opinion?”

“Yes. He demanded that Abraxas and I should be sent out of the party. Gideon again argued that I should at least stay. Even my father wanted to leave. Septimus turned to his son then- it was his wedding after all.” Mr. Malfoy sighs again. “Whether you see it as bad or good is up to your character but- Arthur remarked that he didn't recall inviting a bigot and a queer to his wedding - referring to my father and I respectively.”

Even though he doesn't fully grasp all the concepts at play here - Ron winces. Somehow, he can even picture his dad and the expression he might have worn.

Mr. Malfoy says, “He had hesitated a moment, looking at Gideon and Molly. But his father had grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. For our generation, nothing was more frightening than the disapproval of our fathers - especially in my case. It does still hold true for some of yours, as well.”

“That... doesn't sound good.”

“It was not. Because of Arthur, my father became even worse in controlling my every move. I had once considered my own plans... but he put me in a chokehold more or less. Though he would yell vitriol at me day and night in the same vein, there was nothing he hated worse than _other_ people, namely prominent families, accusing me of being queer, and thus accusing him of - I don't know - letting it happen?”

Lucius finishes, “Naturally, he had me married to Narcissa. We care for and respect each other, and we love our son all the more to make up for it, but there's not a spark between us. I could have fought him, but I did not. I allowed myself to be helpless to his will, because what else could I do? The other side of this world would not have me, and if I shamed my family name, I would have nothing.”

Ron decides not to ask. He decides not to point out that he'd have his conscience more clear, perhaps. That probably means little, to a man who had few friends and no family he could depend upon.

He emphatically _wants_ to ask - about the truth of Lucius' orientation, but it's none of his business. What does he really know about it anyway? Instead, he mumbles, “It's... not actually bad though. Is it?”

For some reason, he's desperate to hear the answer. The answer seems important all of a sudden, and he isn't sure why that is.

Mr. Malfoy's left eyebrow ticks up, and he appears lost for a moment. “... Oh. You mean - Well I can sit here, and tell you that no, it isn't wrong, no one should ever have to explain _why_ it isn't wrong, to fancy whomever you please, regardless of gender... but ultimately I cannot decide for you how you think of it.”

“I... think I agree.” The words taste strange in his mouth, fragile and significant all at once. He looks Mr. Malfoy in the eyes, despite the swirling in his stomach that is now far gone from the effects of the Apparation. He wants to hold on to this moment.

“Then, perhaps there is hope for your generation of the family yet.” There's a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Ron's eyes are briefly trapped there.

Suddenly, there's a pop that causes Ron to jump across the bench. A house elf bows to Mr. Malfoy. “Mr. Weasley has arrived, he is alone.”

“Er.”

He doesn't have to ask - Mr. Malfoy explains, “Ah, not my house elf. We have... guests. House elves tend to be temporarily obedient to prestigious hosts.”

Mr. Malfoy waves his wand, and the Patronus fades. In a smooth motion, he stands and pats at his robes. Ron follows suit, getting to his feet and straightening his clothes. His knees don't feel... solid. He realizes he should probably -

“I have mentioned that you were attacked and fainted from injury and shock. Whether or not you tell your parents the details is your choice - but I would strongly recommend it. Bottling up such an event... would not be healthy.”

Ron nods. A sensation not unlike floating underwater overcomes him as he follows Mr. Malfoy. They leave the garden into the mansion. Ron keeps his eyes ahead, not wanting to become distracted by the Malfoys' lavish way of life. They are at the door.

It's barely swung open by the snap of the house elf's fingers, when Ron's dad barges in. He only spares a glance for Ron before charging Mr. Malfoy, wand already brandished. He places the tip at his neck and near to crowds him against the wall.

“What have you done to my son, you bloody poof? If you so much as looked at him the wrong way, I swear to Merlin and Godric Gryffindor himself that I'll -”

“Dad!”

His father's eyes flick to him, and his arm relaxes a bit. Ron can't help but notice that Mr. Malfoy hasn't even made any sort of movement to brandish his own wand, the walking stick held limply in his long, polished fingers.

“He didn't do anything to me, I swear. Not anything bad. He gave me water and talked to me to pass the time,” Ron elaborates.

His dad glances back at Malfoy, an expression like he can't entirely believe Ron's words. His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, then he tucks away his wand and shifts out of Mr. Malfoy's space. Mr. Malfoy's hand clenches tight around his staff, and his jaw appears to tighten.

Ron adds, “Do you have to think the worst of Mr. Malfoy just because you _think_ he's into men like most blokes fancy girls or whatever?”

They both turn to him, expressions slackening with shock. His dad recovers and clears his throat. In a pained tone, he says without looking at Mr. Malfoy, “Thank you for looking after my boy. He has a talent for getting into trouble.”

Ron glares at the elaborately patterned rug beneath his scuffed shoes.

That's him. The problem child buried beneath siblings who are more successful or academically talented than he will ever become, thrown in with a younger sister who draws more praise and attention.

“Hardly his fault in this case, I think.” Mr. Malfoy adjoins to Ron, “You do realize, young mister Weasley, you said that aloud?”

Ron mentally backpedals. He realizes his dad is giving him a look of puzzled concern. “Erm. We should get home, dad. I have a lot that I have to tell you and mum that... Mr. Malfoy didn't think it was his business to mention.”

He steals one more glance at Mr. Malfoy before they leave. He's staring into the middle distance, but Ron later convinces himself that his eyes briefly flick in Ron's direction before the door closes.

*** 

Ron stares into the window of Honeydukes. He fingers a small pouch - his allowance. He's alone here - things have been tense with Hermione due to her being a go between. There's no shortage of people in Hogsmeade, though.

With a huff, he turns away. A flash of white gold catches his eye.

_Lucius Malfoy._ He stops to stare at Honeydukes as well, expression unreadable. He doesn't seem to have noticed Ron, yet.

“Are you getting something?”

The twitch of his fist around his staff is the only indication that Mr. Malfoy may have been startled. He exhales through his nose and sweeps by Ron with nothing more than a slight nod. Ron contemplates.

He walks inside.

After poking around, a tin with the lid off for display catches an eye. There's probably a spell to keep them fresh - a dozen little cakes with a tiny blue candy bird on top of each one. He takes it to the counter and makes the purchase, wincing as he hands over almost all of his money. _What is he even doing?_ He tastes one when he's outside to be sure - and Merlin, is it delicious.

Ron can only hope Mr. Malfoy hasn't vanished. He searches the village. It's not difficult to catch Mr. Malfoy coming out of Dogweed and Deathcap, given his height and stately appearance.

“Hey, Mr. Malfoy?”

He stops, raising an eyebrow. There's something clutched in his other hand - _Merriment Soil Enrichment for Forlorn Flowers._ He tucks it into his robes.

“Yes?” His tone suggests he doesn't understand what gives Ron cause to speak to him. He's not sure either.

“I…” Ron's ears heat, and he's nearly overcome with awkwardness. “I got this for you.”

He presents the tin.

Mr. Malfoy doesn't roll his eyes, but it seems to be a near thing. “I informed you, I need no tokens of gratitude.”

He snatches the tin anyway. He rips the lid off and takes a whiff, his eyelids sliding closed. He tucks the lid beneath the tin. “Sweets. How is it you guessed this weak point of mine?”

“Er... intuition?”

“Mmm... Narcissa does not allow sweets in the house - she believes it a terrible waste of money and thinks that if Draco picks up the habit from me it will impair his cognitive function.”

_That's the stupidest thing I ever heard,_ Ron wants to say, but in a moment of wisdom he keeps his mouth shut about that. _Aw, he has a sweet tooth,_ Ron also thinks and does not verbally let slip. Mr. Malfoy sneaks in a way that isn't obvious to the side of the building. Ron glances around and follows, for some reason. _Also - a brain? Draco Malfoy? Already a lost cause._

Mr. Malfoy plucks one of the cakes and shoves the entirety into his mouth. Ron doesn't know why, but he averts his gaze as his cheeks heat a little. Mr. Malfoy hums.

“There is an empty spot here... you tried one?”

Ron nods. “I wanted to be sure they were... good enough.”

“They are luxurious, they must have cost a fortune -” He pauses, an oddly scandalized expression over taking his face. “ _What did you pay for these Mr. Weasley?”_

He shrugs. “Most of my allowance, I don't know.”

Mr. Malfoy stares at him as though he's sprouted wings and a beak. “You do realise the significant wealth gap between us is in my favor, yes?”

“You didn't go in and buy anything though.”

Mr. Malfoy makes a sound through his nose and leans his staff against the wall. He kneels to gently set the tin on the ground. He starts to dig into robes. He pulls out a line of galleons tucked between his thumb and forefinger. With his free hand, he grasps Ron's wrist.

Were it anyone else, Ron might've flinched - it was the same wrist that was injured earlier this year. Mr. Malfoy must remember, because he seems to handle it like an expensive heirloom vase. He pressed the galleons into Ron's palm. “This should cover it I imagine? If there's extra, consider it my thanks - if anyone saw me buying sweets and it got to Narcissa, she would hex me into _next week_.”

Ron stares. It's definitely _way_ beyond the amount he had, but he doesn't know how to decline without offending him, possibly starting an argument. He swallows his pride. He decidedly does not remark that Mr. Malfoy seems to have no shortage of people controlling his life. He probably knows.

Instead he questions, “What was that you got from the Herbology shop?”

“Ah, it's for my roses. They're special you see, not ordinary. My mother had bewitched them to sing - they would even take suggestions if, say, you wanted them to set a certain atmosphere. However, they have been sad and quiet for a long time - I have failed to revive their spirit,” Mr. Malfoy grumbles at the end.

“Why?”

Mr. Malfoy has reclaimed the tin and taken out another cake. He nibbles on it this time, presumably savoring the taste rather than horking it like a starved kneazle. “They took a shining to a friend of mine. When he passed away... they've hummed a few mourning tunes before going completely silent.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” Ron pockets the galleons he was still holding, part of his mind still numb with disbelief. No one would ever believe that _Lucius Malfoy_ had given him money. He will probably keep it out of sight, even of his friends - if he can still call them that.

Ron also asks, “Who was it?”

Mr. Malfoy pauses. He lowers his voice as though passing a grave secret. “Regulus Black. Narcissa's cousin. Younger brother of Sirius Black... you've heard of him, yes? With all that - whatever that was last year. They had been close before Hogwarts... then it was like Regulus didn't exist to Sirius, him being a Slytherin. After his graduation he ah - followed me around a bit like a lost puppy.”

Ron assumes asking how he died is probably a sore spot. Mr. Malfoy falls quiet, staring wistfully at a third cake. His finger trails through the edge of the icing. Ron notices the crowd has thinned out. It's getting late.

“I should go. Erm.” An absurd notion hits him - absolutely mental. He poses the request anyway. “Could I write you?”

Mr. Malfoy climbs out of his daze and blinks at him. “... Write me? _Write me?_ Why on Earth would you want to do that?”

“I dunno... you seem like you like to talk? And... I don't have many people to talk to either... right now.” Ron doesn't elaborate at the moment.

“That's - you - that's rather presumptuous. Admittedly, it is easier to say things to a young, curious person outside of my circle than it is to anyone from one of the prominent pure-blood families.” Something in his expression twitches. A grimace? “It's always muggles this, half-bloods that, what do you think of the latest bill the Ministry is trying to pass, Lucius? Dreadful.”

Ron chuckles. “Sounds like you'd almost rather talk about the weather.”

“I suppose it's fine, if you want to send me letters,” Mr. Malfoy concedes. “I would advise you to _not_ make it common knowledge, I am certain your father would not care for it. And yes, write about anything, no matter how dull it may seem - let it give me something to think about while I try not to roll my eyes at all the imbeciles who demand my attention.”

Hearing Mr. Malfoy speak derisively about his own kind is deeply amusing. Does that make Mr. Malfoy a hypocrite? Hermione would be the person to ask on these matters, but Ron isn't sure how she would react to knowing he's acquainted to Lucius Malfoy, whose son has called her some nasty things -

“Where did your son learn to talk like he does?”

“Pardon?”

Ron elaborates, “You know name-calling and such, just being generally rude and snotty. Er. No offense? He's not polite and everything like you.”

“No offense taken, I am well aware of my son's lack of manners despite my attempts. I let Narcissa spoil him far too much for one thing. I'm afraid he gets his temperament from... his mother's side of the family. They are…” He thoughtfully pauses. “Boorish.”

He continues, “Nonetheless, he _tries_ to imitate traits he'd think I'd approve of, but most of the time he fails spectacularly at actually _listening._ For instance touching dangerous artifacts that I have to risk almost breaking with my anti-curse wand handle just to protect him - despite being instructed _not to._ ”

Mr. Malfoy indicates the top of his staff, the ornament encasing his wand that's in the shape of a serpent’s head. Ron nods.

“Yeah, that sounds like him. Oh bloody hell - sorry - I should really get going now, Professor Snape will murder me if he catches me one minute late -”

“Be off then. I look forward to the letters - if you don't change your mind.”

*** 

Ron rushes back, Mr. Malfoy's voice still in his ears. He won't change his mind, he's certain of it. As soon as he can, he quills the first letter. While doing so, he takes out his drawing he did shortly after _that night._ He almost considers sending it, but he decides against it. He might be able to do a better one later.

It's a coloured drawing of Mr. Malfoy's Patronus - which Ron has since figured out resembles a French Bulldog. He wonders what his own Patronus would be. He's not like his friends when it comes to casting spells. He hopes it will be a dog too, if he ever manages one. The background is in charcoal, so that the pink-tinted white shade he used for the Patronus stands out even more. He even drew in the roses themselves.

_Dear Mister Malfoy,_

He crosses that out. He might need someone to proofread it later. He thinks of the mysterious pair of letters he found among old things that must've belonged to one of his family members. It had been before his first year of Hogwarts, and he’d been helping his dad clean up a bit so there’d be more space for school things. They had used strange names to address each other - _Black Bear_ and _Red Stallion._

Once he finishes, he manages to get a hold of Hermione. Her expression pinches several times throughout the letter, but she dutifully corrects his mistakes with her wand and hands it back to him without much comment.

“I know things are... hard right now, Ron,” she says, “But Harry and I are your friends. We still care about you. It'll sort out eventually.”

Ron gives her a look, hoping it conveys how quietly grateful she doesn't ask _who the hell he is actually writing to._ He doesn't respond and scans his letter one more time.

_[Dear Mr. Frenchie,_

_Sorry for the address. I'm trying to be discreet._

_I'm honestly not sure what possessed me to ask this of you. Maybe I'm a lost puppy like your old friend? My siblings are all amazing, in my parents' eyes, including my long-awaited sister Ginny. I think they try to be proud of me, but what have I done aside from helping Harry do dangerous things and almost die? Will I ever do anything to really please them? I'm not bookish smart like Hermione, nor as talented at spells and just... charming people, as Harry._

_You don't have any siblings right? So you probably don't understand. You must've been the apple of your mother's eye... if not your father. I'm lucky I don't have one like him, I guess. I'm lonelier than ever, to be honest. Harry and I aren't getting along and it's my fault - I'm so jealous of him. I'm being stupid and I can't help it._

_I'm... just worried about him, really. Why does he have to be so... him? Hermione is frustrated with taking messages between us. I do feel bad about it._

_It feels good to write this out. I don't know what you'll get out of reading it, but thanks anyway. I won't blame you if you were only humouring me and don't even open the letter._

_Hopefully we can talk again soon, doubt it since you must be so busy. It's not like I can ask your son if I can visit over the Hols or something. Can you imagine the look on his face? Ha!_

_By the way, do you do anything for fun aside from Gardening? Herbology seems boring to me. As for me, I like chess and Quidditch. I don't think I'm good at much else - what kind of Wizard am I?_

_I think I've rambled enough? Thanks again. Just for... being there. I know you said no gratitude, but it's not exactly about that, you know._

_Regards,_

_Ron Weasley]_


	2. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

It isn't until Christmas is nearly upon them that he receives a return letter. At that point, he is losing hope, and Mr. Malfoy can't actually be bothered to write to a starry-eyed teenager. The Great Hall is a bit sparse for once, since some people have gone home early. The _Champions_ are staying of course, but only Harry and Cedric are in the hall at the moment. The Gryffindor table is still occupied enough for a lot of chatter.

A few owls have swooped in, probably last minute correspondence from people's families. There's a few gasps across the table. Ron flicks his eyes up from where he was listlessly poking at his food - earning concerned looks from Hermione that he ignored.

A beautiful bird that is most definitely not an owl veers toward their table. It has a long neck and tail, not unlike a peacock. The head is black with red oblong shapes around the eyes that almost appear glued on. The small curved beak is the softest shade of yellow. Most of the plumage is white with black markings - the lengthiest feathers of the tail are pure white, as is the neck. The bird's underside is pitch black, though the feathers exposed to light have an azure sheen. The legs are pinkish-red, dainty yet sturdy. It lands on the table in front of him with a smooth _woosh_ and no other sound.

Clasped in its talons are a letter with an almost glittery silver seal and a long, slim package. On the seal, there is what appears to be an antler with a snake curled around the lowermost prong. Something chimes in his mind, but he can't figure out why he recognizes it. 

Despite its previous elegance, the bird unceremoniously drops the two items in front of Ron and bobs its head in an expectant manner. It makes several short little noises and pecks at his hair. Familiar with some behavior of owls, he figures it must want to be fed- but he has no idea what to give the bird. Perhaps, the letter will tell him.

He ignores the blatant stares and yawning silence as he carefully peels off the seal and pulls out the letter. At first the ink is a blinding gold, then it settles into the normal black. The ink is fragrant, but it has a different odor than most ink - woody and sweet. It reminds him of the rose garden.

It isn't just one letter, though, it's several pages. His eyes widen. At least it makes up for the response taking so long to reach him.

_[Dear Mister Weasley,_

_Ah. I was delighted by your letter in the pile. They're a misery to sort through now without Dobby, though I suppose I brought that upon myself. Most letters are of a business nature, or other Pure-Bloods seeking my favor with colourful tripe. I admit I don't understand why you are drawn to me, or what it means; nonetheless, I am willing to accept it._

_Your use of a pseudonym is clever. I shall be using that. I would use one too, if I had been given one. For now, the use of FairMeister Faewing (the Silver Pheasant by the by - I did not name him) for the delivery will suffice as a disguise. Though beautiful, he is not a species most wizards or witches would notice and attempt to intercept if so inclined._

_It unfortunately means the return letters will be a bit slow in comparison. He is enchanted to have more endurance than the usual pheasant, but he flies lower and slower than an owl, and only while there is still light. Forgive me. My owl is well known, and even being seen borrowing another carries some risk. Especially with_

_Nevermind._

_It's unfortunate you are treated this way in your family, or feel that you are. I can't speak for them, but pulling from my own relationship with my son, it seems likely that they love you. They just are not perfect at showing it._

_I tried to be better than my father. In avoiding raising a hand against my son, I'm afraid I've created a chasm between us instead. I do not think I even know his favorite colour. He's intimidated from talking to me unless spoken to, or unless he has something or other to whine about like that Hippogriff that "nearly ripped his arm off and killed him" (the exact words in his letter). I heard it escaped. I am relieved, actually. I would do nearly anything to appease my son's whims if only he doesn't look at me like I'm going to use the cru_

_Like I'm going to utilize unspeakable spells against him. It isn't without regret. I'm certain my son overreacted. I offended a Hippogriff myself once, in my youth. Perhaps, it's a Malfoy right of passage. However, I had a friend that came to my rescue. I fear Draco is lonesome. He has what can only be described as 'followers' but no true friends that I can tell. As such, he turns to me to fix his problems._

_It is true that my mother and I were quite close. My father was a cruel man with a temper he would take out on anything in his path, including her… and me. Too much information? I do not seek pity. Without her as a buffer, well. He also drank more when she died. I do not know if you've heard the term “mean drunk”, but my father seemed to have both invented the term and was surpassed by none._

_I am ashamed to say, though it is well known, I picked up the habit of drinking my troubles away as well. However, I'd always lock myself in my study, leave my wand in the library, and command Dobby to not let a soul near me. It was fairly successful. Reigning in my anger has been more difficult the past two years, but I have managed not to do anything regrettable as a direct result of my temper._

_I can only imagine what you must be thinking. Draco told me all about that Hermione and her campaign for the elves. Dobby volunteered himself, not that it's excusable. He was attached to Draco from his birth and sought to protect him from my wrath by offering himself instead. He became tired of it, the more violent I became. I was worried about what might happen if I stopped, but it seems my fears were unfounded. Pass on my apologies if you get the chance._

_//_

_Do not compare yourself to your friends. Further down in your letter you mention that you enjoy chess and Quidditch. Both of these require plenty of mental skill and stamina. Are you also adept at chess? If that is the case, you have a strategic mind. This may mean you overthink in situations where the answers are more obvious. Quidditch tends to require quick thinking, strategy again, and decisiveness. Do you play or just observe? Even if you are an avid observer, keeping up isn't always easy. Something tells me you thrive more in situations of mayhem and adrenaline, or you have the potential._

_Do not underestimate your merits. I can say naught positive about the Weasleys, but you are a Prewett as well. Both of your uncles were quite intelligent, but Gideon could get distracted and needed help to focus. He was sharp though, and I would often think the two of them would've been fine in Ravenclaw. He also had some talents, but what made them great was how hard he worked to refine them. He was an excellent Pianist, for example._

_Your merits do not need to be defined by your ability to spellcast. I'm certain that's laughable coming from me - are you laughing? I hope so. You're allowed. 'Look at this - Haughty Pure-Blood Wizard Lucius Malfoy is telling me that I'm greater than the sum of my wizarding skills'. It's true though. I have known great witches and wizards and I have known great women and men. The latter was not because of their magic, but it was because of what they did, how they treated others._

_I don't delude myself that I am more than the former. There was a time where I would've liked to be. The time has long passed. I've become so good at playing the part I've forgotten that I was anything else - forgotten how to be anything else._

_I may have stopped making sense at this point. I apologise for digressing. I'll keep the next bit simple - you and Harry ought to be honest with each other. That's all there is to it. I thought Gryffindors had nerve? If proving it to me would be an incentive, here it is._

_//_

_I had a laugh myself thinking of Draco's reaction to that request. Based on remarks he has made about you, that would not go over well at all._

_To your question - if I have any other hobbies - as it happens I am a peerless chess player. I'm not bragging. Hogwarts used to hold competitions, and I placed first each year for seven years, dethroning the former champion at a mere age eleven. Though I watched Quidditch enthusiastically, I was not on the team. The wind -- my hair -- the prospect of a bludger sending me into the mud on a rainy day -- I think you can get the picture. Perhaps, once you have graduated (seems quite a while away, I know) we can attend matches together, barring any unexpected changes in our lives._

_I can also sing, but like my flowers, I had lost the spirit for that many years ago._

_To conclude, I got plenty out of reading that, thank you. Try to not fall asleep reading my lengthy response. If I talk this much about myself to Severus (Professor Snape, that is), he will simply leave the room. The man despises even the slightest amount of narcissism or egomania. Take comfort that there is someone out there who puts your rambling to shame._

_I look forward to more letters. I hope as well for a time we can speak in person. Part of me is reconsidering sending this, but a friend once told me the sharing of your innermost self is medicine for the soul._

_Regards,_

_Mr. Frenchie_

_P.S. This address amuses me to no end, I assure you. Additionally, Faewing enjoys corn. Otherwise, he can feed himself on insects/seeds. If you were wondering and made it this far... he belonged to Regulus Black. A gift from his lover, also deceased. So he went into my care.]_

As he finished off the last page, Ron disantly knew he must look like a fool for how much he was grinning. The words on the page were as breath-taking as their writer - some of the letters were curved with a personal flare that made something in his belly curl. It was as though he chose each character with care, specifically for Ron, as silly as the notion is.

He doesn't hesitate to pluck a half-eaten corn on the cob and offer it to Faewing. He finishes it off in minutes. It doesn't escape him that the bird is essentially named Master White-Winged Fairy in less words, if one was being more literal. It was fitting. Ron wishes he could've met Regulus Black, the man sounds like he was quite the character. He was the brother of Sirius Black... who is also well, something else.

His heart soars. Mr. Malfoy bothered to write back to him - and judging by the amount of words, using a considerable chunk of time to do so. Despite his remarks on his ego, it seems to Ron that he offered advice and insight to Ron more than anything. Does he think he's more conceited than he actually is? Do people expect it, push him to be? The thought makes his head hurt.

He hasn't even seen what the _gift_ is, as that is what it must be. It is nearly Christmas, which means Lucius Malfoy has essentially put thought into getting him a Christmas gift as well. He isn't sure if he should send something back. Maybe the Patronus drawing? Mr. Malfoy made it clear he doesn't want Ron spending money on his behalf. He would faint as though beset by a Dementor if Mr. Malfoy sent him more galleons.

Draco's voice breaks through the spell - thinking of him as _Malfoy_ now is weird, even though he still refers to him that way out loud.

“What the hell, Weasley?”

“Language, Malfoy,” Hermione reprimands. There are several snorts and chuckles at that, including from Ron. He catches Harry's eye only briefly over the table, before he looks down at his goblet again. Progress?

“Oh, shut it. I'd just like to know when you got to be so important?”

Ron's eyebrows knit. He glances around, and no one else seems clued in, either. “What do you mean?”

“Ugh. That is the Eklund Seal of the Twelve.” Draco points at the envelope. “It's a seal that was used by the Prominent Twelve, preceding the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Eklund of course, Black, Gaunt, LaRaine, Nott, Faust, Prewett, Peverell, _Malfoy_ , Weasley, and a few others I don't care to remember. Some of them went extinct or were removed from the list - like yours - but the existing ones who aren’t in disgrace still use the seal - namely, the head of the given family!”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Wow, you sound like Hermione reciting something from a book. Maybe you two should discuss that sometime over dinner.”

Draco makes a high-pitched sound in the back of his throat. He looks like he wants to take a note from Hermione and deck Ron. Out of the corner of his eye, Ron sees a horrified expression on Hermione's face.

“I'm only kidding,” he mutters. Meanwhile he examines the seal. Mr. Malfoy wanted to avoid giving himself away, but he used that seal? He supposes it doesn't immediately suggest his identity. “Is it really such a big deal?”

“Yes! They also used LightBright Vanishing ink.”

“Can you speak English?”

If he pushes Draco any further, steam may start coming out of his ears. That sounds like a fun prospect, actually, when he thinks about it.

“The ink shines an illegible gold color to anyone else who tries to read it," Draco explains. “They try to use any spells, and it will disappear. It's generally used for letters of... of a personal nature. Meaning whoever this is considers you more important than just a co-worker or something, _and they're the head of one of the most significant pure-blood families!”_

Ron couldn't care less about that pure-blood rubbish, but he decides, for once, to not start a scene by saying something like that to Draco's face. It's _already_ a scene, pretty much.

“Bully for me,” he deadpans in the most serious tone he can muster. “How do you know about the ink, anyway?”

“I swear on Merlin's grave Ronald Weasley. My father is one of the few wizards or witches left who makes ink by hand to sell - usually it's done with magic or house elves. So I recognize the smell.” Then, he pauses. “So who is bloody writing you?”

At this, all eyes move from Draco to him. “Er…”

He regrets even making a sound. What excuse does he even have? He could just tell him it's none of his damn business - which is true - nor is it any business of the nosy onlookers. He decides to entertain himself.

“A secret admirer?”

Draco is fit to explode. Several chortles ripple through the table.

“They ought to be twice your age! That's disgusting!”

“Merlin's sake, Malfoy, I didn't say he wanted to snog me, or wed me, or something!”

Draco appears as though he's been slapped in the face. He gapes at Ron, probably stunned by the bluntness of his words. _Maybe Ron shouldn’t have confirmed it to be a man._ Apparently, he was too loud, because Professor Snape who had been crossing through the hall stopped to stare in their direction, eyebrows ever so slightly raised.

He's become rather good at reading subtle expressions, Ron thinks with some pride. Though, he just watches Mr. Malfoy's face closer than is polite.

Snape strides over. “What is this raucous? No unsanctioned dueling is allowed, I remind you.”

Draco actually shutters and slinks slightly away from Snape. From Mr. Malfoy's letter, it sounds like he and Snape are more than acquainted. Was Snape around while Draco was growing up?

“We weren't about to fight,” Ron says, though he's not entirely sure that's true. Snape appears doubtful.

“What is the fuss, then?”

“I just got letters, that's all.” He waves it. Snape squints at the letters askance.

“From one of the remaining Prominent Twelve?”

Ron reflects that he should've expected that.

“It's not just that,” Draco whines. “He was suggesting that an older man fancies him!”

“Again, I didn't say-”

“An admirer is usually romantic, you idiot! How else could I take that? You're mental -”

“Enough, Draco. He is obviously having a laugh at your expense.” Snape's expression suddenly becomes serious as he turns to Ron. “Am I correct?”

Ron swallows, having a feeling that the way he answers is strangely vital. “It's true that he's from one of those families, but he'd rather be... discreet. It's really not untoward in nature, I don't think. We're just talking about stuff.”

Draco repeats in an incredulous tone, “Just talking about stuff? One of the most important people in the wizarding world is just - just - having written tea with you?!”

“Written... tea?”

“You know what I mean!”

_“Mister_ _Malfoy_. I'm afraid another boy's correspondence, should he wish to keep it private, is none of your business. Leave him be. Mister Weasley, it does you no favors to imply things that are unsavory, even unintentionally. I will be keeping an eye on you, and if I suspect anything, you will allow me to read the letters.”

Ron ducks his head, ears hot. “Yes, sir.”

Draco makes another noise in his throat and stomps off without responding to Snape. He really is nothing like his father.

Maybe his father is actually more experienced at hiding his temper. He _did_ say he has one.

Ron thinks about what he said, now. He feels guilty for what came out of his mouth - since they're both male the usual romantic nature of an “admirer” didn't immediately occur to him before the words spilled out. Even though they don't know who is writing to him, he's frustrated with himself for implying that, after that one exchange between Mr. Malfoy and his dad. He tucks the letters back into the envelope.

Faewing has nestled between him and Neville, with his head on Ron's knee. He seems to be asleep. Ron finally pulls the wrapping off the broom, earning several gasps and noises of approval. He can only picture Draco once again fixing his gaze on their table, but he doesn't dare look to avoid provoking him.

_Gutlocker 777th Edition. Ronald B. Weasley._

It's a customized broom - even having his name engraved.

They're very rare to see, especially in Hogwarts - not even Draco's is this decked out. That's because they're largely decorative or used for casual play - not competitive sport where they can be ruined. The shaft is Gryffindor red, whereas the handgrip near the center is gold and made of a material that looks soft but firm enough not to tear easily. Gold, shimmering ribbons are attached to the brush and have a feel to them like his fingers might go right through if he rubs hard enough.

Seamus pipes in, “That's an outdoor luxury broom, that is, specifically designed for Keepers! The Gutlocker series is the most stable, so much that you can stay in the air even with a direct hit from a bludger!”

There's a note, in the same ink as the letter.

_[Happy Christmas, Mr. Weasley. If you join the Quidditch team eventually, don't worry, this broom is tougher than it looks. However, it is perfectly decent for casual use, travel, or decoration.]_

Ron is thankful no one can hear how fast his heart is beating.


	3. Visions and Escalations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief instance of masturbation in this chapter - minimally detailed.

He quickly finishes what's left of his food and heads to the dorm to write his next letter. He can't even wait a day.

_[Dear Mr. Frenchie,_

_I'm writing this quick - I might do more later to respond to everything! Thank you for the broom! It's amazing! I haven't joined yet, but I was thinking of trying out next year. Obviously, this year is a bit of a mess with the tournament. Wish me luck when the time comes?_

_I had a bit of an argument with Draco Malfoy. He identified the seal and the ink as being from someone of... note, specifically among self-important Pure-Bloods._

_My family doesn't really buy into that stuff, as you well know. He even mentioned that his father makes that specific custom ink. I hope he isn't too bright to catch on to who you are. He's such a_

_A brat! He gets himself into a fit over nothing! I guess a lot of us can get moody though, I won't pretend like I don't._

_Were you like this as a teenager? I can't imagine it. I think you were probably quiet and had your nose in the books, or something. I could be totally off, huh?_

_Everyone was extremely nosy about it. I should've expected that. That's Gryffindor for you. Slytherins aren't much better sometimes, at least when it comes to Malfoy. Professor Snape chased him off more or less, I have to wonder if he was a figure in tiny baby Draco's life. I feel like there's something there. He respects him and defies him in the same breath._

_I may have accidentally blurted that the one writing to me is a “Secret Admirer” ..._

_I just wanted to mess with him and make Harry and Hermione laugh - despite how things are they'd know if I fancied someone or vice versa. Even though you weren't there and they don't know it's you, it sort of implied to Malfoy that some older bloke was harassing me. That's not the case, I don't feel threatened or uncomfortable or anything I promise!_

_Professor Snape seemed worried. It reminds me that he's actually pretty protective of us students when it comes down to it. In third year he nearly got torn up by a werewolf protecting the three of us. That reminds me - not a lot of people actually know of the wild, sometimes ridiculous and mental adventures we go on in detail do they? It's strange to think about. I wonder if it would make a good book or two. Not that I'm a writer. I have to get Hermione to spell check me! I can't write essays for the life of me._

_I would go on, but I really want to send this to you as soon as possible! I read everything in your letters, and I'll probably read them again and again. Your writing is so elegant and beautiful. My quillmanship isn't as bad as Harry's, but it pales to yours._

_To give you something more. I am an expert chess player, for my age anyway. It's hard to find people in my year to play with, and the older students often ignore me. I hope we can play chess someday. And I would like to go watch Quidditch with you in the future._

_Faewing is adorable, by the way. He hasn't left my side, I think I have a new friend. I hope I can get him to actually take the letter to you!_

_You definitely gave me a lot to think about. Don't think too much of talking about yourself, it's kind of interesting. Somehow, the more you reveal the more of an enigma you become. I want to know everything._

_I have to ask._

_Why a Keeper's broom?_

_I was thinking about that position. You're not a mind-reader are you? (Joking)_

_Regards,_

_Ron Weasley_

_P.S. Maybe if I can cast a Patronus next year, I'll use that as my code-name. I tried earlier this year, and it didn't go well. I'm sending this drawing to you as a Christmas present, made with materials I already had. I don't need you giving me more money! My parents would see it as charity (which they are too proud to admit that it injures their pride), and I can only imagine the gossip that would be among the students.]_

Hermione's facial journeys as she reads over and corrects Ron's letter is a source of entertainment. Thankfully, she again doesn't make many comments or ask any searching questions. Ron does get the sense that she knows more than she lets on. He wouldn't put it past her to be trying to discover the true identity of “Mr. Frenchie” and be well on her way to succeeding. He finds he doesn't care if she parses it out on her own.

*** 

The year passes in a blur. He and Mr. Malfoy exchange several letters over that time - Mr. Malfoy's almost always longer than his own - and it actually shows a marked improvement in his writing, according to Hermione. At one point, he stops having her proofread, so that he can write more freely. That seems to make her suspicious, but he brushes it aside.

If there are glaring mistakes, Mr. Malfoy doesn't indicate that he minds. Occasionally, he offers writing advice. The letters start to blur together. Something is clearly bothering him, as the letters become shorter and the words more terse and to the point.

He relays his birth date somewhere in there.

Mr. Malfoy sends him First Edition books - _The Queen's Folly, A Guide to Reading your Chess Opponent_ by _Hyperion P. Eklund_ as well as _Speculation on the Snitch, a Quidditch Disaster_ by _Roland M. Prewett._

Ron gawks and strokes the covers. There is a note with them, of course.

_[Best birthday wishes, Mister Weasley. Though you don't come across as a reader like your friend Miss Granger, I hope these will interest you. I have read them several times over, and their existence in my collection is mere pomp. And yes the author of the second is an ancestor of yours, it was a gift from Gideon - it seems right to pass it on to where it truly belongs.]_

Ron writes a short response.

_[Dear Mr. Frenchie,_

_Words are difficult. I don't read much because I get bored and distracted easily, like my uncle according to you, I suppose. I will do my best, but I am honoured to receive these. You mentioned in a previous letter that books were like your close personal friends when you were at Hogwarts. I can't imagine what it means to you to give them as gifts._

_You and Hermione would probably get along if er_

_If you put the blood stuff aside. It honestly sounds like you aren't as prejudiced and uptight about it as you act, based on some of what you have written to me before._

_Thank you so much. A letter would've been a gift enough. Maybe that mindset comes from growing up in a large, poor family, haha. Despite mentioning your friendship with him, you seem to rarely mention Gideon as though invoking his name is a treasure and yet a curse. You were much closer friends than you are letting on, weren't you?_

_Were you_

_Did you_

_Nevermind. None of my business. Also, you didn't remark on it, but Eklund is your ancestor, yes? I remember that being your mother's maiden name, for some reason. I don't know a lot about books, but a first edition by someone in that family must be a big deal._

_I think something is bothering you. I won't ask, and you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. Especially if it has anything to do with you-know-who. I don't know. A lot of people seem more on edge the closer we get to the third task. Professor Snape looks more like he swallowed an entire broomstick, and Professor Dumbledore looks grim, when he thinks no one is paying attention. Maybe it's my imagination._

_I don't think people are certain you-know-who can't return, but they want to be. They don't want to admit to it. Stay safe._

_Regards,_

_Ron Weasley]_

The look Hermione gives him when she finds him attentively reading later is surely priceless.

Ron finds himself unable to sleep that night. He squirms under the blanket. He kicks the blanket off. He drags it back up and bundles it under his head. Finally, he stifles an annoyed groan and puts his feet in slippers. He sneaks down into the common room, hoping that no other night owls are creeping around.

It's empty.

Ron has letters from Mr. Malfoy gently clutched in his hand. He sits on a couch and sets the pages down in front of him. He runs his fingers over the first page and takes a deep breath. Something he can't identify settles in his chest. He closes his eyes.

He pictures Mr. Malfoy talking to him at Hogsmeade. In his mind he sees the quirk of his eyebrow, the curve of his mouth when he smiles, his captivating gaze. He can feel the ghost of Mr. Malfoy's fingers on his wrist. He remembers the glimpse of his tongue as he ate the cake and the icing that was smeared on his fingertips. He remembers how Mr. Malfoy tends to keep from physical contact out of what Ron assumes is cautious propriety.

Ron bites his lip as he comes to a realisation. He can't sleep because he can't stop thinking about Mr. Malfoy - or _wanting_ to think about him... apparently. He misses him. He wants to hear his saccharine voice, how he often speaks like he's comforting a wounded animal. He recalls the times he's heard the harsher tone, but somehow even that still causes his throat to tighten. He wants to be the sole focus of Mr. Malfoy's shrewd gaze.

He winces as he leaves his stupor - to an intense ache. He digs his fingers into the arm of the couch. He feels very _confined_ all of a sudden, and he wants to open a window or take a leap into the cold lake. He bites back a whine.

It takes him roughly a full minute to recognise the issue. _He has a stiffy._ His face becomes red-hot at that realisation, even though he's alone. He glances around. He tugs a blanket hung on the back of the couch over to his lap.

He's never been this hard while conscious. His parents already had _that_ utterly embarassing talk, and he knows what it means. He's spent himself in his sleep or quickly while showering before, but this is _so_ different.

What's more, he got aroused thinking about... _him._ Is that appropriate? It wasn't like Mr. Malfoy was... doing anything to him. He was just picturing him in general.

Does this mean he fancies Mr. Malfoy? Does this mean he fancies... _boys?!_

If his dad found out... he would be done for. Officially the family disappointment. His dad has incidentally made his opinion on that abundantly clear. Ron never could have imagined he would have to worry about it on a personal level.

He takes a few shaky breaths through his nose, then shoves his hand in his trousers.

" _Excuse us, young mister Weasley."_

" _I'm not a monster - well, I try not to be one."_

" _... in the event that I ran off with a man. Ah, romantically, that is."_

" _I informed you, I need no tokens of gratitude."_

" _Mmm..."_

_With his free hand, Mr. Malfoy had grasped Ron's wrist, handling it with care. His fingers had brushed over Ron's as he pulled away after placing the galleons in his palm, leaving a tingling sensation._

Ron bites his lip again to swallow a moan as he strokes himself - memories of his interactions with Mr. Malfoy reverberating in his mind. He refuses to give into his imagination more than that - he is certain that Mr. Malfoy doesn't fancy him given his age, and he would never touch Ron. It's too disturbing to even entertain. He won't do someone he nearly considers his friend a disservice that way.

His hips buck into his hand outside of his control. He bites the back of his hand as tears prick his eyes. Something pools and clenches low in his abdomen and then- he spills with a shuddering gasp, and Mr. Malfoy's given name on his tongue. He does not let it free through the pressing of his lips, he doesn't dare.

_Lucius. Lucius. Lucius._

He wipes his hands off on the blanket and shoves it under the couch. He'll ask Hermione to perform a cleaning charm on it later - he doubts he will have to explain or come up with an excuse, Hermione just _knows_ things sometimes. She would spare him the loss of dignity with merely a shake of her head, he guesses.

  
  
  
  
  


*** 

  
  


“Professor Snape?”

Snape stops. They've crossed paths in the quiet part of the hallway. “Question about the coursework?”

“Er. No. I don't know who else to ask who is neither too close or too much of a stranger.”

Snape stares him down, expression completely unreadable. Ron can guess what Mr. Malfoy seems to be thinking sometimes, despite his similarly stoic demeanor. It's almost like he desperately wants someone to see his thoughts. Yet, he can be skillful at misdirecting if he does want to avoid a topic. However, Snape is a brick wall.

“Very well... what's on your mind then?”

“Is it strange for -” Ron notices his mouth is really dry. He should've gotten something to drink. “Have you ever heard of a teenager being attracted to an adult?”

Snape automatically rolls his eyes, not a reaction he was expecting. “Haven't you had this type of conversation with your parents?”

“Not... specifically. And I'm afraid they'll ask... too many questions I don't want to give them answers for.”

“What a very Slytherin thing to say,” Snape says, sounding vaguely surprised. “Have a secret to hide from those closest to you?”

There's a weighted pause.

“Ah. This is about the man you are exchanging letters with, is it not?”

“Er-”

“Do not be concerned. I am the least likely person to care about the gender. He hasn't... sought to bring this out in you, I hope?”

“What? Oh. No, never, he's - he's not like that, I'm pretty sure. At least... I had Hermione proofread a lot of my letters up until recently, and she's smart, I think she would've noticed if I said anything weird.”

“I see. It is... uncommon, I suppose, but possible. It indicates, I think, a desire for a more mature partner - in terms of mentality.” Snape continues with a sigh, “I knew a young man below my year, who became attracted to a man about seven years older than him when he was seventeen. They started contact, but nothing romantic happened until over a year afterward.”

It was like a strike of lightning, a bolt of intuition. He couldn't possibly be talking about Regulus Black, could he? Ron clears his throat to prevent himself blurting something that might not be for anyone's ears. “I don't... think about him doing anything to me. Just his voice, the one time he touched my hand. I just... wondered if something was wrong with me for feeling this way.”

“You are young... hormonal,” Snape grits out, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I can't - I have no drive for the physical myself that I can empathise, but. If you feel like you are the center of this man's attention, if he has made you feel special, even unintentionally, it's fairly normal to feel a certain way about it... and for that to lead into desire.”

“Oh. Thank you for - I know you'd probably want to hex me right now if I weren't a student.”

“I don't particularly enjoy this conversation, no. Mister Weasley... don't let anyone make you feel _wrong_ for your... inclinations. Aside from the most obvious - being consent - there is hardly an incorrect way to _feel_ about another person - or lack thereof.”

“...Lack?”

“Such as not being attracted to girls. Or not being attracted to anyone at all.”

“Got it. I'll get out of your hair, then sir.”

*** 

_[Dear Mister Weasley,_

_I'm sorry._

_Words cannot express_

_That boy should not have died. I'm sorry. I don't know how well you knew him, but I'm sorry. Are you alright? How are your friends? Is Mister Potter_

_I heard he was_

_He's back. He_

_They're going to try to ignore it. I know they are. Don't get too frustrated. As you once told me, 'Stay safe'. You need the warning more than I. Any danger I'm in, I deserve, and I am at fault for following such a path._

_Sincerest Regards,_

_Mr. Frenchie]_

Ron keeps the letter under his pillow. He doesn't write back until well into the summer.

_[Dear Mr. Frenchie,_

_It was you wasn't it_

_That scared them away._

_I always knew, I think._

_My friend told me about_

_Who was there._

_I just hope your remorse is true. I don't know whether to believe it, but I want to believe it. I want to keep writing to you, but I don't know if it's safe. From what my friend told me, He doesn't show mercy toward anyone, even His own. Stay safe if possible, and your family too. Keep them safe._

_Regards,_

_Your friend (?)]_

*** 

_Dearest Friend,_

_My son was a year old. The first thing I did when I got the... news that year, was hold him. I was relieved, and I was sad, for your bespectacled friend. The second thing I did was destroy the evidence._

_Mainly because I never thought I'd wear it again. I didn't want to look at it ever again. I thought it was over. I had to borrow_

_I thought He was saving me once. Setting me free. He merely plucked me like a violin. I went from one set of shackles to another. From one master to another. A dressed up house elf to serve the cruelest of beings, but_

_I deserve it._

_That was me that night. I'm sorry. The moment I realised what they were doing I_

_They were watching you. In the Quidditch stands. I saw them following you. As I said. I'm not a monster. If I had killed, I had never tortured unless coerced. I have never violated_

_I couldn't stop it sometimes. The screams_

_It burns. Incessantly when He calls. It feels as though the entire limb has been set on fire and twisted in a vice. I cried the first time it returned. I'm beside myself that I won't be able to protect my son. He always wants new blood._

_I'm a coward. I don't want to d_

_Don't worry over much about disguising your words, I have evaded detection when it comes to personal matters for many, many years. Do be careful though. Better to have too much caution than none at all._

_Nothing sweet has passed my lips... my throat mostly knows only the bitter taste of alcohol of recent. I drink until I'm too sick to stand. I see ghosts in my mind's eye. Narcissa has to practically force me to eat anything. My son avoids me like I've dragon pox. I would never_

_Please stay safe. Whatever petty revenge I have enacted on your father over the years, those grievances don't apply to you. I know it's impossible to wish you wouldn't go looking for trouble but considering your best friend has a target on him and what sounds like a disregard of his own mortality for the sake of others. Well._

_Sincerest Regards,_

_Mr. Frenchie_

*** 

_Dear Mr. Frenchie,_

_I have a Patronus! No spoilers. You'll see it at the end of the letter - I'm including a drawing too. I think I'm improving. I'm not doing too bad in duels. We have a secret club going on. Long story._

_Sorry I haven't written in a while. I had no idea how to respond. I'm not angry. I probably should be. I'm just... confused. Who you seem to be and who I know you to be seem very different in my mind. I miss you._

_Hermione learned and shared with us that Dark Wizards/Witches can't cast a Patronus if they do not have genuine guilt, sorrow, or remorse for their actions. Their skin will boil on their wand hand and melt off the bone. No exceptions. Not like they usually need to, anyway._

_You can cast a Patronus._

_That means you aren't evil, right? You feel bad for hurting people? I mean, I don't know what you've done, but you can't have been in service without doing something bad. I don't think you had a choice. It's either serve or die once you take the mark, isn't it? I don't think it's evil to not want to die._

_I think if you were really the type willing to hurt your son, you would have. I don't think you're capable. Please don't drink too much. I'd still like to see that Quidditch match with you, just so you know. If you-know-who doesn't smear everyone on the walls, first. I'm more confident in our abilities than that though, sorry to say. No details! For er,_

_Plausible deniability? I had to ask the bushy-haired bookworm for the term. Ha._

_Umbridge is awful. I'd rather have Snape as Headmaster. He looked like he wanted to feed her to the giant squid. I'd help him, to be honest. Your son is an absolute terror. I am certain you would not approve of him being puppeted by her, more or less. He and the barmy pack of Umbridge's chosen knobheads are the bane of our existence. We're just trying to help students defend themselves for the greater good, and the Ministry of Magic is just_

_Ugh._

_I have half a mind to go into politics when I graduate just to stop this nonsense. Then again, not sure I could keep myself from hexing them all - my brother Percy is enough of a git to deal with. I think everyone expects me to be an Auror. I think I do, because I'd be bad at anything else. What do you think? Do I seem suited to that?_

_Hope you're well._

_Regards,_

_Jack Russell_

  
  


*** 

_Dear Mister Russell,_

_Glad to know you're in good spirits, aside from the Ministry Problem. I swear, the governing of Hogwarts has gone gormless since I was let go, or I'm being conceited again._

_Congratulations on the Patronus, it's a fairly advanced spell that isn't formally taught anymore for reasons I do not understand. Gideon's was a horse, and Regulus had a bear, presumably a black bear based on shape. If that seems familiar, I will allow you to draw your own conclusions._

_Did you know the Patronus represents the innermost, true self, and the Animagus symbolises how you present yourself? They can be different. Needless to say, I have an Animagus, and it likely won't surprise you to learn it is a white Peacock. I was able to shift when I was thirteen for the purpose of_

_. . ._

_I'd rather tell you that story in person, or perhaps after we’ve seen each other again._

_Another fun fact, Hogwarts used to have a dueling club. James Potter and Severus hexed each other badly in tournaments (a trip to the hospital wing for one or both every time) and Potter incited others to be just as underhanded and discourteous as he, so they closed it down. For a taste of irony, I was on a team called the Sylver Gryphons - Gideon's idea. Dueling teams could be made of adolescents from any of the houses. Potter Sr.'s was entirely Gryffindors._

_I still think of that promise, about Quidditch. Was it a promise? I wish I could read old letters, but I deemed it safer to get rid of them, recently. Apologies._

_I thank you for your faith in me. Of course I do not think I deserve it, but it is appreciated. I would die for my son, but then I would not be around to protect him. I cannot die a traitor's death, as Regulus did. It would accomplish nothing. Nor make any difference. Like a dog I dutifully serve my master, because I know nothing else. I roost in the branches of my prison like the Peacock, waiting on a threat that may never pass._

_The Ministry can ignore and bury it all they want, but it won't stop what's coming. Consider this a friendly warning. Stay safe while you can._

_Sincerest Regards,_

_Mr. Frenchie_

_P.S. Do not question me about Regulus in letters. Should there ever be an opportunity, I would tell you about it in person. I'm afraid I cannot convey it on paper._

  
  
  
  
  
  


*** 

  
  


Harry isn't the only one who has bizarre and vivid dreams.

“ _All you have to do is give it to me -”_

“ _I guess I can wait a little longer. Now!”_

“ _I... I will not harm anyone. You have my word. I prefer to settle matters without violence.”_

_He hands over the orb._

“ _Much obliged, young mister Weasley.”_

_He tosses the orb in the air and snaps his fingers. It disappears._

He likes that dream, even though he remembers only bits and pieces that don't entirely make sense. It's odd and confusing, but it's better than the nightmare.

_“Stay away from my Godson!”_

_“Nice one, James.”_

“ _Sirius! No! Sirius!”_

“ _Hahahaha he's dead! Sirius Black is dead!”_

_“Crucio!”_

Tears stream down his eyes and paws at his sheets. He doesn't want Harry to lose his godfather, but he doesn't know why he's so certain it's bound to happen. It's just a nightmare after all, isn't it?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


*** 

Too fast, does the incident approach as they’re led into a trap at the Ministry.

The words out of Mr. Malfoy's mouth are too familiar. His tone of voice is too sweet, even for him. His eyes are pleading on the edge of begging - Ron knows he's the only one who can see it. He doesn't want to fight them. Mr. Malfoy doesn't glance at him, and Ron is certain he's making the effort not to do so.

Then, Harry defies him. They’re fighting and running through the halls. 

*** 

Ron slips free of his captor with a twist of his wrist and an elbow to the sternum. He races forward. In a flash of stupidity that might also have an ounce of nerve, Ron grabs the Prophecy before Harry can decide what to do. It can’t be Harry. _It has to be him._

“Ron what are you -”

“Trust me,” Ron hisses through his teeth. He doesn't know what he's doing, if this will work, if his dream was real.

_Fabian Prewett was a seer. A real one. He had prophetic dreams and could read more than death in people's futures._ Mr. Malfoy had mentioned that off-hand in one of his letters. Ron steps forward and meets Mr. Malfoy's steely eyes.

“Promise you won't hurt anyone. Please.”

“I... I will not harm anyone unless absolutely necessary. You have my word. I prefer to settle matters without violence.”

There's a noise of disapproval somewhere behind Lucius. He doesn't even twitch. Ron places the orb in Mr. Malfoy's outstretched hand. A barely perceptible smile graces his lips before disappearing. Ron allows his fingertips to brush Mr. Malfoy's as he pulls away.

“Much obliged, young mister Weasley.”

He glances at Harry, who looks panicked. Hermione is glaring at him like she wants to set his hair on fire with the power of her gaze alone. His other peers just look defeated or frustrated, some faces streaked with tears. 

Mr. Malfoy tosses the orb in the air and snaps his fingers. It vanishes. It's too close to his dream to be a coincidence. Hope fills his heart.

_Do the right thing. Do the right thing. Do the right thing,_ Ron thinks as though he could pass them on with sheer willpower. Mr. Malfoy spares him a peculiar look. Then, there's a flash of movement.

“Watch out!”

Mr. Malfoy barely dodges the spell that Sirius casts at him. Then after Lucius has been thrown back by Harry and Sirius, Ron yells, “Stop her! Stop her!”

Lucius grabs Bellatrix’s elbow just as her hand jerks forward, a curse about to spill forth from her lips. She does release the spell, but the sudden imbalance sends the curse veering far from its intended target. Sirius disarms her. Bellatrix snarls at Lucius and claws at his face, leaving a line of blood from his forehead to his temple.

“What have you done!?”

Lucius sputters, “If one order member is here, the others are likely to be close behind! We _must_ leave!”

“Coward! What else should I expect from a little -”

The rest of the order members stream in and start attempting to subdue the Death Eaters. The arrival of Dumbledore, then Voldemort, leads into another kind of battle. 

  
  


*** 

Once they're gone, Ron takes in the fact that Sirius is alive and Harry is hugging him. Hermione slaps him across the back of the head and gives some kind of lecture. Even if it didn't turn out the way he expects, maybe it'll be worth it.

Most of the Death Eaters didn’t get away in time to avoid getting caught by the authorities. Mr. Malfoy and another man initially escape, but they are later tracked down and arrested once the statements of witnesses are taken. Bellatrix Lestrange is not found.

The orb is in a box tied around Faewing's neck. He drops a letter in Ron's hand before it gets to opening the box, but he opens it before reading the letter. Harry is baffled into speechlessness and hugs him, Hermione is crying. She immediately runs off to tell the Headmaster. Ron reads the letter while Harry gives Faewing scratches under her wing. Ron blinks back the wetness in his eyes.

_[Dearest Friend,_

_Tortured for my 'failure'. Numbing it with drink. Worth it. I could go on the run, but my son_

_For once in my life, I will not be cowardly; Instead, I will face justice._

_Thankfully as an Inner Circle member, my Master made the mistake of teaching me how to resist. In case the 'enemy' decides to fight fire with fire, or one of our own attempt to turn on us. Eventually, he realised he had to creative, therefore_

_Stay safe. Give Sirius my regards if you can figure out a way?_

_Ah, scratch that._

_I_

_His brother loved him very much and talked about him a lot. Even though Sirius treated him like a speck of dust_

_Just for being a Slytherin_

_You look at me like_

_It doesn't matter anymore?_

_If you hate me now anyway, now that you've seen it with your own eyes. It is beyond my control. I am only glad to have this time._

_. . ._

_Now that I'm sober, I must explain that I did not reveal that you handed it over. No one refuted, either because they're afraid of me as well or they did not know for sure. He didn't doubt me, and no one would dare question Him once He had made up his mind._

_There is a way to_

_Split the soul. It has a name. Forbidden. Part of Him lives inside your friend, I’ve deduced (could be incorrect). As long as your friend lives, so does he. It’s the best explanation I think of for their apparent connection. I don’t believe He knows._

_The Jewel of the Snake lies with the Servant of the Darkest Stars_

_Another is where one may write their thoughts not for others' eyes. Your sister's curse. I did not know it would possess her. I had to get rid of it. I'm sorry. You can rest because that one was destroyed, already, I think. I still have it, and it seems lifeless._

_That is all I can say. I can only hope no one finds this. Faewing is aging now. There may soon come a time when he can longer make the journey. I may be unable to contact you again before he is too old. Do not send him back. He doesn't get along with Narcissa. If you are up to Draco knowing the truth, you may put him in Draco's care if you do not want to look after him._

_I hope you can forgive me, but I am not counting on it. On one hand, you already seemed to know, but seeing can be different than knowing._

_I don't know if I will survive Azkaban. I don't necessarily mean physically. I haven't been put under a Death Sentence, but the effect it can have on the mind..._

_I can only write this because of my status in our world. It was a last request before I will be shipped off. Unfortunately, they are only allowing one correspondence. I held the information I must try to convey of greater import than my family. There is not much I can say to Narcissa and Draco, really._

_This might be a strange and difficult thing to pass on, but please tell Draco that I love him, and I'm sorry he was born into this rubbish. I expected him to be able to live his life, free to walk a path that wasn't necessarily set before him._

_Should we ever meet again, or write without hiding, I hereby give you permission to use my given name. It would feel odd not to, at this point. Hopefully I could have the same privilege, but it's alright if not. If we do meet again, you will likely be an adult or close to being one._

_Stay safe. Please don't die if I live._

_Sincerest Regards,_

_Lucius M.]_

  
  


*** 

“Malfoy.”

Draco makes a face so similar to Mr. Malfoy's - _Lucius’ -_ most sour expressions, it brings tears to Ron's eyes. He steels himself.

“Your father loves you very much. You're the light in his life, I think, and he'd die for you if he wasn't more worried about being alive to watch over you. He's sorry for what's happening, and for making you a part of it just by existing,” Ron manages.

Draco's mouth drops open, and he stares silently for several seconds. “What? What do you know about it?”

“He... sent me a letter.” He wants to tell him that Mr. Malfoy was clearly giving them traitorous, inside information, but it's too risky. Whatever allows Mr. Malfoy to keep his secrets, it's not likely Draco has the same skill. If he knows, Voldemort can find out.

“A letter,” Draco deadpans.

“I could show you, this one has normal ink -”

“Shut up. I can't even wrap my mind around this rubbish right now. That means you've been - and he - forget it. Thank you for.. telling me that. I guess. You disgust me,” Draco barks emphatically, turning and marching off in a whirlwind.

*** 

Draco corners him later. His eyes are red. He slides down on the wall and covers his face with his hands.

“Alright?”

“No,” Draco mutters. “I hate being home when he's not there. Mother... leaves, travels somewhere she said isn't suitable to have children around.”

Ron stays silent. He can't tell if Draco is grasping for some kind of response or if he's just venting. He waits.

His expression is disconcertingly blank when he lowers his hands. Voice flat, he says, “I was around... four I think. I don't really remember it anymore, but I told him I was a boy, he accepted it.”

Ron goes on several mental journeys before he can _get it._ A book comes to mind, that his mum had seemed alarmed at. She had told him not to have his dad catching him reading it. The book had been about a magical person who had been called a wizard... until she needed to be called a witch. It had been part of summer studies for Transfiguration he’d done to get his scores up.

It seems Draco is trying to conceal his emotions. He continues past Ron's continued silence, “He used to sing me to sleep. For a few years, he'd brew tea himself and rub my back when I wasn't... feeling quite right about myself. He'd walk me through the gardens, and show me how to prune and weed - not that I bloody cared about flowers or herbs once in my life.”

“When I was around... eight. He was really drunk - like _pissed._ I didn't... understand at first. Mummy - I mean _mother_ explained it later. I had wandered into his study and taken a book... he swiped it from me and yelled at me. He raised his staff... thing.”

“Somehow I remember it so vividly?” Draco says to the ceiling, “He had this aggressive expression I had never seen before, and I was terrified. I froze, and I didn't know what to say. Apologise? Should I beg? He had never threatened me in any way before.”

Ron listens raptly, worrying the edge of his robe between his fingers. Admittedly, he's a bit too eager for this window into Lucius' past.

“Dobby popped in. He was... he doted on me like we were blood relatives. When I was three I called him 'brother' which made my father chuckle - at least that's what mother told me. He grabbed Lucius' wrist.”

Draco continues, voice starting to shake as his eyes take on a notable shine, “He said, ‘Master doesn't want to hit his son. Master doesn't want to leave scars like his father did to him’. It took me a long time to understand, but even at that age... I just felt sad. Confused and sad.”

“He reacted as fast as lightning just as Dobby finished speaking,” Draco went on. “He knocked him to the floor. I yelled. My father dropped his staff and fell to his knees. Sobbing... into his hands. He kept saying sorry, sorry over and over, and I didn't know what to do. I had never seen him upset like that.”

“When you're little your parents are at the top of the world you know?” Draco elaborates, “They know everything, they can do no wrong, they don't get emotional and throw tantrums because they're so wise. If they aren't... arseholes anyway. Right?”

Ron hums, to at least indicate he's listening.

“I thought about getting my mother. But I hugged him. I said ‘Sorry Father, I knew not to come in here’. That... seemed to upset him more. He waved his hand, and then Dobby took me back to my room.”

Ron gently prods when he is quiet for a moment, “What happened after that?”

“My father wasn't perfect. Far from it. I feel like I don't even... know him really. He kept his distance after that. He basically stopped spending time with me unless mother was there.”

“He didn't trust himself,” Ron mutters without thinking. Draco squints at him. “Just guessing?”

“Maybe. But he never hit me. He laid into me if my grades dropped- 'You can do better than this Draco', but he never really punished me. He didn't spoil me and shower me in gifts and praise like mother, either.” Draco adds, “It was mixed messaging you know? I tried to be like him, which didn't impress him - I tried to be unlike him, not much reaction to that either.”

Ron is exasperated on Lucius' behalf. “You should just be yourself.”

“What do you know about it? You can't imagine what it's like. You Gryffindors are all - open with each other, let's share our feelings and play dumb games with no pretence. It's not like that in Slytherin, or in the real world when you've been a Slytherin,” Draco argues.

Ron rubs his hands together. “What were you trying to tell me anyway?”

“I don't know what to make of my father's supposed words. I should know it, you know? When I turned eleven, and it wasn't long before I entered Hogwarts, I finally realised I wasn't... like the other boys. I expressed to my father my fears, even though talking to him felt like I was poking a snake with a stick,” Draco rambles. “He told me it was my actions and choices that determine what kind of man I will be, not what’s given to me at birth. I’m still not… entirely sure what that _means_ for me.”

He turns to glare at Ron, shoving a pointed finger in his face. “You tell anyone I told you _any_ of this, you'll wake up with all of your limbs detached.”

Ron sincerely doubts he could make good on those threats, but he has no intention of outing Draco. “You may be a git, but I'm not,” is what he answers. Draco sneers at him, but there isn't much heat behind it.

“Anyway, it actually means a fucking lot to me to know that my cold, distant father gives a shite about me after all, and he just doesn't have a bloody damn clue how to show it, apparently. Instead he fucking tells you? What even is that?”

Ron can't explain. He might give too much away. He just shrugs and says in a facsimile of a certain friend, “Language, Malfoy.”

“Oh sod off, Weasley. Wanking off to my father's letters or whatever it is you do, doesn't make you my step-father.”

Ron imagines he must turn white as a sheet, and his jaw drops. Surely he doesn't know wordless and wandless legilimency?

“What the hell is your face? I'm joking.”

Ron wants to slap himself.

*** 

Even though he can't send them, Ron still writes letters over the summer and well into sixth year. It's better than sitting around crying about someone who can't care for him in the same way.

_Dearest Lucius,_

_It's stupid, but I fancy you. I'm not weird about it. I won't tell you the details. But I like you a lot. Maybe when I'm older?_

_Draco figured it out. Well, not really. He was just making a really inappropriate joke because he's a giant git. Probably to get back at me for contextualizing the Secret Admirer joke. So he doesn't know that he figured it out, which is hilarious, actually._

_Yours,_

_Ron Weasley_

* 

_Dearest Lucius,_

_Faewing is a darling. It's no trouble at all. Better than when I had that rat that turned out to be Pettigrew. Better than any owl my family has ever owned since I can remember._

_Yours,_

_Ron Weasley_

* 

_Dearest Lucius,_

_My dad asked me if I've had a girlfriend. I stuttered and Charlie covered for me. He winked over Bill's shoulder. I think he knows but how? Is it something people can sense if they are like you? He's_

_I don't think he's ever had a girlfriend. Ever. He could just not be into anyone, married to his work or something. The wink says otherwise, though._

_Yours,_

_Ron Weasley_

* 

_Dearest Lucius,_

_I'm an idiot._

_I've gone mental. Were we actually able to exchange letters, you would have talked me out of it I'm certain because I would've spilled everything to you like a daft enamored arse. Except the fact that I fancy you. Merlin's balls I could never actually tell you that._

_A girl named Lavender asked me out and I said yes. I could be into both you know? It's a thing. I asked Professor Snape, he looked extremely exasperated and said it's called "Bisexual" and I should really talk to my parents. I told him my dad is a homophobic git who called you (I referred to as Mr. Malfoy) a poof, and I kid you not he looked like he might've laughed if he weren't living with a permanent stick up his arse. He also looked like he would hex my dad if he ever saw him. Maybe he's_

_You know, I don't want to think about that._

_Kissing is horrible. It's dry, then it's wet, then it's tiring. I might as well snog soggy sandpaper. I'd rather be reading one of those gigantic volumes 'Mione likes to tote around like it's her baby. Not that I don't carry your letters around in my pockets sometimes in a similar way. I probably shouldn't but I'm a pining fool._

_I hate this._

_Yours,_

_Ron Weasley_

* 

_Dearest Lucius,_

_WE_

_BROKE! UP!_

_I saw she didn't like it when I hung out with 'Mione so I pretended to fancy her by muttering her name when I was barely conscious. Then I pretended to be unconscious. I had been poisoned or something which was a whole thing that might have been to do with Draco? Somehow. Unfortunately... 'Mione seems devoted to me. I think she might actually fancy me. Maybe she'd rethink that if she saw I have the fancy for Malfoy's dad._

_I shagged Theodore Nott in a hidden nook when I got better. He kept giving me looks in class. Am I that obvious? Be honest! Did you think I was_

_Right. I'm not going to send these. Wow_

_Now I'm crying. Emotional range of a teaspoon, eh, Hermione?_

_Anyway, Nott isn't that good looking and he doesn't talk much. When he does it leaves a lot to be desired. If 'Mione thinks I'm a dull conversationalist, she should try out Nott._

_But he can do things with his hands and mouth so it's alright. It was pretty good. We might do it again. I told him I'm in love with someone else. I'm not sure if that's true yet, if I'll ever see you again_

_He got the message though. Casual only. Even though I'm not into him, into him, it's so much better. I haven't kissed him on the mouth._

_Is it bad that I want you to be the first man I kiss? As if that will ever happen. Even if you get out of Azkaban they'll probably kill_

_Fuck_

_Yours,_

_Ron Weasley_

* 

_Dearest Lucius,_

_I drew your Patronus again. I don't know if I remembered it correctly, but I did my best. I think it's better than my original drawing. I was crying. Again, ‘cause I’m a nutter. I want to see your roses again. I want to see you again. I miss you._

_Yours,_

_Ron Weasley_


	4. Faith in Deceit

When Harry and Hermione bring a sobbing Malfoy into the Gryffindor common room with a crimson robe thrown over him, Ron almost falls over.

“What in the bloody hell?!”

“Not right now Ronald!”

He falls silent and wordlessly helps them, ignoring the surprised look that Harry gives him over Draco's head. He doesn't need to explain himself to them. He's not even sure he could. He feels a sense of duty to the son of the man too old for him that he's kind of a little in love with? Yeah, no.

Draco shows them his dark mark, tears still streaking his cheeks. It’s on his right arm, where most mages channel their magic. Is that to make them harder to tamper with, since left-handed magic tends to not be as strong? Maybe, or it’s just a random choice. 

“It hurts so much. I didn't want this. I think even my father di-di-didn't want this, but the dark lord. The - dark lord. He ordered me to. To kill someone. How can I do that? What gives me the right? I've tried to do it indirectly but it hasn't worked…”

“You're not killing anyone, Draco,” Hermione says in a matter-of-fact way. Harry and Ron gape at her. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“But he's called you-”

“I know.”

“And he's a git!”

Draco weakly protests, “Hey!”

“I know, Ronald!”

Harry murmurs, “Everyone just calm down?”

“You almost fucking killed me, Potter.”

“Sorry.”

Ron questions him, and he explains sectumsempra, from the book. He explains how Professor Snape revealed his identity after saving Draco's life. Apparently, he told Harry it would be better if the incident didn't get out - which is why Draco isn't in the hospital wing despite nearly bleeding to death.

Harry ponders whether he should get rid of the book.

At the same time Hermione exclaims, “Yes, you should!”

Ron says, “Hell no!”

They glare at each other.

“It could be useful,” Ron tries. “Hasn't your potioning gotten way better? That's good for us isn't it? And the fight? Who knows what the hell side fucking Snape is on. We might need someone who has sort of learned from it.”

“WHAT SIDE?” Draco grabs at Ron by the lapels and shakes him. “He saved my life! If he was really out to get you, wouldn't he have incriminated Harry?!”

“But we don't _know,”_ Ron argues.

Draco sighs and releases him. “I mean, you're right. He _is_ a death eater but apparently he made some kind of unbreakable vow about me with my mother - he's weird. I don't get him. I've never seen him - he doesn't act like the other death eaters do. He doesn't go on about pure blood, muggles, or muggleborns or any of that shite unless he's prompted.”

“Maybe he and Lucius are spies,” Ron wonders aloud. He doesn't realize it came out of his mouth until he notices the stares. Fuck. “Erm, I mean -”

“What do you mean _Lucius?_ Why - Since when the bloody hell are you on a first name basis? I mean - what the hell?”

“He gave me permission in the last letter -”

Somehow he's completely forgotten Harry and Hermione are in the room at that moment, and that they have no idea he was writing to Lucius.

However, Hermione rolls her eyes. “Of course. I suspected, but I wasn't sure.”

“What?”

“Puzzle pieces,” is as far as she seems willing to elaborate.

Harry says, “Hello. Would someone like to clue _me_ in?”

Ron rubs his face. Draco makes another one of his high-pitched irritated sounds. Hermione looks to be containing the urge to laugh, for some reason.

“Lu- Mister Malfoy and I were exchanging letters for quite some time. Don't ask how that came about, assume I've gone mental if you like. It's... complicated.”

Hermione poses, “Complicated? You? ...Is that what was up with the prophecy?”

“No, that was because of a dream... I'm... I think I inherited some seeing the future powers from my uncle Fabian, but I have no control over it.”

“Right. Though Divination is a convoluted and meretricious subject, I recall - true power of sight can be inherited, only if the current holder in the family has passed on. Not that I'm sure I believe it but…”

“It was uncanny 'Mione, honestly," Ron insists, combing fingers through his hair. “Lucius said almost verbatim what I remembered from the dream. And when he made the orb disappear…”

Harry tugs at his glasses. “It was still a risk to trust a dream you weren't sure was prophetic or not.”

“Chalk it up to being a Gryffindor? Also... I had other dreams before. Inconsequential but... I mistook it for Deja Vu. The ones about Lucius were more vivid I think because I er-” He reddened slightly. “I think about him a lot.”

Draco groans dramatically, and it was loud in the otherwise deserted common room.

"Not like that- you dirty minded-" It wasn't true, but they didn't need to know that. He's even had a wank between lessons when he couldn’t stop thinking about Lucius _during_ lessons. “I think a lot about what I'm going to put in the letters!”

“Whatever, Weasley. Spare me. I mean I know it's not like you're actually gay.”

Ron feels flushed all over and his throat tightens. “Yeah, haha. I had a girlfriend and whatnot.”

Hermione gives him a concerned look he very much does not like. He rubs the back of his neck and pretends to find the drapery interesting.

“Urgh. You know - I thought that bloody pheasant looked like something my father would own. Reminds me of the white peacock we used to have.”

Ron snorts.

“What?”

“Err... nothing.” A thought occurs to him, and he clears his throat. Clearly he says so that each of them hear it - “I mean, it would be nice if they were spies, but that's impossible right? They're loyal Death Eaters. Completely evil as far as we know. I was lonely enough to talk to Lucius, but I wouldn't think twice about what I would need to do if push came to shove.”

They all stare at him, faces utterly blank.

One.

Two.

Three.

He can see the moment it clicks. Voldemort is a mind reader. A legilimens. If any of them should be under his gaze -

“Right,” Hermione says. “Most likely irredeemable. I bet you-know-who hardly doubts them. We can't trust them for a moment.”

Draco leans against her, sighing with exhaustion. His eyelids flutter.

Ron has a strange feeling in his stomach that it takes him a distracted second to realise is protectiveness. He glances between Draco and Hermione.

Hmm.

Good or not good? He isn't sure. He'll file it away for something to be examined later.

Once Malfoy seems to have passed out, Ron opens his trunk and digs out the last letter from Lucius. With his quill, he carefully scratches out any words that blatantly reveals his identity to anyone who would go mind-walking. He winces at covering any parts of Lucius' beautiful calligraphy, but it's a necessity and there's other letters. He simply folds back the first part, where it's drunken ramblings. It gives away more than he can simply cover up without just dumping an inkwell over the stuttering paragraphs.

Ron lies for effect, “I received this from an unknown… confidant.”

After reading it lightning quick, Hermione says, “Oh!”

It's quicker than Ron can process what she could be realizing. She disappears for a moment, presumably to her room, and she returns with a book. “I have already been researching Harry's connection to Voldemort. I believe what he's talking about is a horcrux -”

She goes on to explain.

Ron's eyes bug out. “But that means - my friend here thinks that Harry is a -?”

“It appears so. It makes sense. But the implications…”

“We cross that bridge when we get to it?”

Hermione nods in response.

Harry hasn't said anything-

He has letters in his hands. Even slightly obscured, Ron recognizes them as the recent unsent - and unsendable - ones. They must've ended up getting pulled out in Ron's mad search for the relevant letter from Lucius.

Caught, Harry freezes. Ron stares at him, speechless.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to look. I was just going to put them away, but once I looked -”

Hermione prompts, “What?”

Draco stirs. “What's going on?”

“Uh... they're just Ron's letters. They're... sentimental. And personal.” He snaps open the trunk and buries them inside. Ron breathes a sigh of relief. He mentally braces himself for the interrogation.

Later, Harry quietly sits next to Ron's bed and leans back. He doesn't look at Ron.

Ron is sitting on the bed. He starts, “Listen -”

“Do you fancy boys?”

“... Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They grin stupidly at each other. Then, Harry sobers.

“It's... kind of weird though. I want to be close to another boy - closer than a friend. I want to do... like, romantic stuff, and kissing would be alright sometimes, but I don't want more than that? I don’t want to shag or get married.”

“That's fine. I mean. I was once told there's... not a wrong way to have feelings about someone. As long as everyone consents and all that.”

Harry nods.

“I don't think about Lucius... sexually,” Ron says. “I mean I pull off kind of thinking about him and holding his letters, but I'd feel bad if I - I haven't even actively pictured anything that's just romantic. Physically. I think about... going to a Quidditch game with him, or playing chess - actual chess, not a euphemism - in his garden. Barmy shite like that.”

Harry chortles. “I mean... I don't blame you. He's beyond fit.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No, no. I'm just saying, I noticed, that's all.”

They're soon sharing sandwiches nicked from the kitchen area. They talk idly about goings on at Hogwarts or humorous things that have happened with Sirius or in the Weasley home. They give a wide berth to the heavy subjects, and they both know it. Later. There's... later, for that.

“Do you think Draco fancies Hermione a bit? At least, I think he wants to be close to her. That's a good step forward, for him, right?”

Harry spits out his pumpkin juice.

  
  
  


***

At some point when they’re traveling, and he’s alone after having a fight with Harry, he writes again.

_Dearest Lucius,_

_I turned eighteen. I wonder what you would’ve sent me for my birthday? Probably your finest vintage wine. Your information was very useful, thank you. We’ve had to leave Hogwarts and we’re hunting Horcruxes. The bloody locket fucked with my mind, I had an argument with them and went my separate way. I drank at a gay pub and very almost shagged a guy who kind of looked like you. Not that anyone else could come close to filling that particular hole in my chest._

_Once my mind was clear, I realized how stupid I was being to HP & HG. Damnit. I really wish I could send this and you could write back. I miss your insight. _

_I miss your eyes - like silver pools in the moonlight. I miss your strong, steady hands. I miss your little smile - so small and gentle like your face struggles to remember how to do it. I miss the subtle quirk of your eyebrow, the twitch of your fingers. I miss your honeyed voice that stirs into the teacup of my mind. I miss the luster of your white-gold hair in the snow-touched, winter sunlight._

_I wonder what kind of lover you are. Do you kiss soft, or is it rough and needy? I don’t know if you’re actually into men, but I wonder if you would like being filled. Would you undress for me and beg or would you take charge and hold me underneath you? I’d like to have you in my mouth and hear what kind of noises you’d make._

_Glad I was a pain in the arse cheek. Means I’m alone right now. I’m so randy._

_I need to_

_. . ._

_I may have found more of the love letters between Gideon and Regulus, a little while back. They inspired me. How they wrote to each other like that without smearing ink because they had to wank, I’ve no idea. My uncle sure had a way with words, if Regulus had any of that signature Slytherin-esque coldness like you it must’ve been brought to a boil._

_I know who they are now since you told me about the Patronuses. Why didn’t you tell me??? Secret lovers?? An order member and a Death Eater? I can’t even_

_Maybe we’ll be the Sequel if you ever get freed and neither of us dies like them. I know what happened to Regulus, kind of. I’m not sure about Gideon, though. Mum didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe she doesn’t actually know. I hope you could tell me about it someday._

_Yours,_

_Ron Weasley_

***

Hermione kisses him. The Basilisk teeth fall to the ground.

_Absolutely_ not the time for this conversation, but needs must. Hermione is looking at him strangely for not reciprocating. He must have been sending the wrong message. He had been rather dodgy when he was confused and frustrated over Lucius, but that feels like it was ages ago.

“I'm gay.”

“Oh.”

“I fancy men-”

“I know what it means, Ron.”

“Sorry.”

Hermione sighs. “Truthfully, I'm not... in love with you. I like the idea of it, and I thought it made more sense, logically, but.”

“Logically? What?” Hermione bites her lip. Instead of answering she starts to pick up the fangs. Ron is hit by the figurative bludger that's been following him. “Oh Merlin, you fancy him too. Merlin help us.”

Hermione mutters dismissively, “What, who? No idea what you mean.”

“Terrible lying, 'Mione. Truly terrible.”

She marches toward the kitchens, Ron at her heels. It isn't until the house elves have left - with the exception of Winky clinging to his leg and suggesting 'how can I assist you master Weasley?' - that Ron brings it up again.

“You fancy Draco. You really fancy him -” He breaks off, giggling.

“Shut right up Ron. You shut right up. Don't say a word to him.”

“I'm going to tell him if you don't,” Ron sing-songs, feeling giddy. He blames it on the adrenaline. Maybe because he's not alone in being in love with a _Malfoy?_

“Don't you dare!”

“... He fancies you back. What's the problem here?”

Hermione whips around to stare at him. “You had better not be pulling that out of your arse, Ronald Weasley, or you will pay for it.”

“'Mione! Language!”

“Piss off, Ronald!”

  
  


***

  
  


Draco almost dies. He sides with Harry, and there's a fire. Lucius Malfoy is in the chaos somewhere. He fails to get a glimpse at the man, if for one last time. The fight rages, and he can barely keep track of what's happening - Horcruxes are destroyed, there's fighting, and people dying. He can't stop to take a breath.

An armistice occurs and Ron is certain that it must mean Voldemort is up to something. Naturally he is, asking Harry to surrender. Ron mourns with his family, lips in a tight line. His mind is racing so fast it feels empty, and it feels so strange when his heartbeat finally slows. It feels wrong to sheathe his wand.

He finds Hermione. They find Draco sitting against the wall just inside the castle.

While they wait for the other shoe to drop, Hermione curls into Draco's side within the castle, arms around neck. Draco is taken aback for a moment, then he relaxes into it and closes his eyes. People passing the injured into a lineup didn't pay them any mind. Ron can't bear the darkness, so he latches on to this bit of light. Eventually, someone does pause to give the pair an odd look, and Ron crosses his arms to glare at him. The teenager wanders away.

He distantly hears Draco call his attention. He mentions he had a heart-to-heart with Harry (somehow during the heat of battle apparently?) and continues on to apologise and just... talk to him. He nods at the right points, his mind one big ringing sound. Is Harry alright? Is Lucius? Are any of them going to be alright?

He poses to Hermione, “You forgave him?”

“Draco? Yes. We -”

“You don't have to explain. I'm happy for you.”

“Thank you, Ron. I hope you can - I mean if we -”

“Yeah.” Truthfully, if they win...

Ron doesn't think it will be easy to get over Lucius, even if he never could've been with him, anyway. He shuts his eyes tight at the thought that any surviving Death Eaters likely won't be long for this world if they win. He doesn't like the idea of that world.

Lucius deserves another chance.

***

  
  
  


Harry was gone. Then, he wasn't.

During the time they thought Harry was dead, Ron remembers himself shouting at Voldemort. He was fighting against every instinct to look at Lucius - he couldn't. He didn't want to know if he was wrong about him. He didn't want to look at what Azkaban had done to him, in spite of that.

Draco grips Hermione's hand for dear life and refuses to step forward when ordered. Ron placed a comforting hand on Draco's shoulder, an act of solidarity. He was showing that, whatever his side may think, Ron and Hermione at least, would protect him from their distrust. Narcissa and Lucius look at each other for a moment, as though undecided what to do. Before anything can happen with the Malfoys, Neville charges forward.

Everything suddenly dissolves into a commotion once again as reinforcements appear, then Neville breaks free and kills Nagini.

Ron hurls himself into the fray without a second thought. In the mayhem, he has lost sight of Draco and Hermione, but he can only hope to Merlin they can watch each other's backs.

“Draco!”

“Draco! Draco?!”

“Draco! Draco! Draco!”

Once Ron gets a break from fighting as others overtake the death eaters, he turns toward the shouting with wide eyes. Somehow, over the noise, the voices of Lucius and Narcissa break through. He can hear the weight of desperation in their voices. He casts his Patronus. As it takes form he half-yells his message into it -

“Follow my Patronus! Come back to me!”

For a moment it's the form of a rounder dog with bat ears, and it prances around him before changing to its usual form - a button eared terrier that spins in a circle once before taking off. Ron is mostly taking defensive stances as he keeps an eye out. Draco and Hermione materialise from the crowd. Hermione hugs him. Draco is about to follow suit before he remembers himself and merely pats Ron on the arm. The two of them fiercely clear the area of immediate threats. Ron addresses his Patronus again -

“Find the elder Malfoys!” He doesn't give a message this time - he would have to re-cast it for that to work. He can only hope that he will be able to tell the dog breed in the havoc and draw conclusions -

Helpfully his Patronus shifts again into the French Bulldog form and jogs into the air, dancing over the throng. Ron could facepalm. _Shite._ What will Malfoy think when he sees his own Patronus staring back at him expectantly?

Somehow it must be effective, because his Patronus changes once again into a Jack Russell and jumps into him, disappearing. Narcissa all but crashes into her son, stroking his hair and cooing. Lucius' expression portrays immense relief. His left hand lands between Draco's shoulder blades. Hermione is staring at Ron askance.

Ron mentally thanks Merlin and the four founders that Lucius has not looked at him. He thinks he might swoon. He looks bloody awful and ethereal all at once.

“Why did your Patronus change three times?”

“Four, actually.”

Her eyes widen. “What-”

_She knows what it means. He knows what it means. They both know what it means._ At least she doesn’t know _whose_ Patronus resemblance that was. 

What Ron doesn't know is if Lucius knows what it means - if he even noticed.

Then Hermione growls, a fierce sound he's never heard from her. It makes him wonder how her Patronus is an otter, not a tigress or a lioness. As she lunges, he soon spots the cause - _Bellatrix._ She battles Hermione, Luna, and Ginny all at once until Molly finally finishes her off in a moment that makes Ron immensely proud to be her son.

Narcissa looks up at the tumult, but she doesn't remotely react to the death of her sister. Lucius huffs an almost inaudible, “Good riddens.”

Draco wriggles free from his mother's embrace to help Ron with the fight. It's winding down. Ron has pushed himself to the edge. His arm shakes, but he doesn't stop casting. He doesn't know if feeling Lucius' eyes on him is his imagination, but he doesn't look. He can't, not yet.

A man, a Death Eater that Ron doesn't particularly recognize, circles them, deflecting the spells and not fighting back yet. He snarls at Draco, “Filthy traitor! Mudblood lover!”

Draco barks a harsh laugh - as close as he is to Ron, it makes him jump - and announces louder than necessary, “Yes! I love a muggleborn! Harry Potter is my friend! I've defected! Fuck Voldemort!”

Ron's eyes bug out - he's surprised they've never actually popped out of his skull, but it feels like a near thing this time. He actually chokes on his own spit when two voices behind him follow suit -

“Down with the Death Eaters,” chimes Narcissa in her chilly, nasally voice.

Lucius meanwhile, perfectly echoes Draco in a dry rasp, “Fuck Voldemort!”

Then, Draco magically curses the Death Eater into oblivion before he can get another word in.

Somehow, this creates an amusing ripple effect as everyone who isn't too preoccupied - house elves and Centaurs included - start chanting, “Fuck Voldemort! Down with the Death Eaters! Fuck Voldemort! Down with the Death Eaters!”

Chuckling, Ron allows his voice to join the chorus in between the few spells he has to verbalise.

Some of them are so taken aback, they stumble and sputter at hearing their great leader being mocked so blatantly.

Then.

“Fucking wait? You love Hermione? I mean that’s obvious - but did you tell her?!” Ron grabs Draco by the shoulder, shaking him. Draco shrugs him off with a half-arsed throat-noise.

“Shut your bleeding trap.”

“If you don't tell her, I will,” Ron lies excitedly. He doesn't stop casting spells, neither does Draco as they volley quips.

“Not unless you want to know what sectumsempra feels like, you won't.”

“Oh, shove off, Draco!”

Empty threats and teasing, does this make them friends?

He has to glance at Lucius.

He has a wand - a lighter wood than his old one with a twisting pattern and a darker, smooth, curved grip - loosely clutched, not intending to fight except in self-defence it seems. However, Narcissa casts the occasional curse at a Death Eater when she has an opening. Lucius is staring at Draco as though he's seeing the sun rise for the first time in years. He looks utterly shocked - but not disapproving.

Interesting.

Then the thing he was trying to avoid happens - Lucius' eyes meet his for the first time since fifth year. Ron's stomach _swoops._ His hand tightens around his wand, and he freezes as though petrified. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth - no way he can say a thing to the love of his life especially not if he has to shout over the battle.

Suddenly, it went breathtakingly quiet as Voldemort and Harry circled each other.

At one point, Harry talks about Severus Snape, revealing some curious things. Ron listens to them talk, enraptured. He gasps at the reveal of Snape's loyalties and his Patronus. He hears a sharp intake of breath behind him - from Lucius?

Draco mutters a sharp, “What?!”

Harry acknowledges that Draco had temporarily been the master of the Elder Wand, and that it had gone to Harry when they'd had a spat after Draco had convinced them to go forward with attempting to kill Dumbledore knowing that Snape would find a way to protect him. Harry had been furious at Dumbledore's death initially, and he misplaced the blame on Draco for not realising what Snape would do. Harry had also taken possession of Draco's wand, and once they had settled down Draco had not bothered to reclaim it. Where he had gotten a replacement is a mystery, but Ron figures Draco’s parents have something to do with that.

Ron doesn't know how to process this. It was too much whiplash from changing his mind on what side Snape might be on - theirs from Lucius' letters, then back again when he was a general git - theirs again when he didn't reveal that Harry had injured Draco with a dangerous spell - then back again when Dumbledore died.

With this new information, Ron has to wrap his mind around that his initial instinct following the near beginning of his correspondence with Lucius had been correct.

Hushed, he questions, “Did you know?”

“I knew he had cared about Lily Potter and that they were childhood friends,” Lucius whispers in return. “I never - I never saw his Patronus in full form, only knew that he could still cast one.”

Ron notices the catch in his voice, but he doesn't bring it up. “How did you -”

He isn't sure what he's asking.

“Who do you think taught Severus occlumency? I was also his mentor in potions and dueling as well. He has since surpassed me, but my mind is a maze, a layer of misdirections that would make any other master chess player's head spin.”

“I don't doubt it.”

There's a ghost of a smile, but the haunted look that Lucius' eyes contact overshadows it - as do the continued speeches between Voldemort and Harry. How long is that going to go on?

To be honest... he sighs, “I'm getting bored.”

“I know what you mean,” Lucius replies. “He loves to hear himself talk, doesn't he?”

Ron isn't sure whether he's referring to Voldemort or Harry, or both, but he chuckles, regardless. Testing the water he says, “Dark Lord of Never Shutting Up, eh?”

“Mh.”

Draco glances between them. Incredulously, he murmurs, “What the hell? What the hell?”

Narcissa vaguely reprimands, “Honestly, Lucius. It's the middle of a _war.”_

Ron returns to watch the confrontation at the center of the crowd, not giving Draco the satisfaction of acknowledging him. However, his ears grow hot. He hopes to Merlin and Queen Guinevere that his attraction isn't too obvious.

He wonders where Hermione is. Has she not come over to them because of Draco's parents? He supposes it may not be the right time to flaunt that in front of them, even though they made no protest to Draco's earlier proclamation.

_Did Hermione hear it?_

_More importantly, had Lucius been attempting to flirt with him?_ Narcissa's tone suggests so, but Ron doesn't want to delude himself. Is bragging about himself, then cracking a joke his way of flirting? It's a very odd manner to go about it in that case, not that he's anyone to talk.

In a flash of spells, Voldemort perished.

The Great Hall erupted in such cheers with flashes and bangs from wands, that Ron had to cover his own ears before he could shout and cheer along with them. Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco huddled together, appearing awkward.

A lot manages to happen in a small amount of time.

One of those things is Harry calling out, “Anyone here who can nearly match Professor Snape's level of skill in potions?”

Tentatively, Lucius raises his hand, presenting two fingers with the others loosely curled. In apparent cleverness, Luna causes a distraction. Harry ducks out of the Great Hall, practically dragging Lucius behind him by the arm. Ron stares after them for a moment in confusion, but he doesn't follow.

He hears Narcissa mutter something to Draco about taking a vacation for a while in France and finalising an amicable, mutual divorce with Lucius. Draco's eyes widen at the latter. He doesn't remark on it, though.

To the former posed as an offer to join her, he responds, “I need some time to think about it. I need father here so I can talk to you both.”

“About Hermione?”

“...Yeah.”

“Well, after everything Draco, I can't say it matters to me who you date as long as you're in love and happy. I hope Lucius can see it the way I do.”

He scratches the back of his neck, expression pinched. “Me too…”

Moment of truth, Ron considers. If Lucius disapproves of them, Ron will have no choice but to cut off his feelings at the root. If or how that's possible, he'll figure out later.

It's a while before Harry and Lucius return. The celebrations have petered out a bit, but it's a mix of sombre and a joyful kind of quiet. Winky has reappeared from Merlin-knows-where, and insists on following him around asking if he needs anything. Why this house elf has imprinted on him of all people, he has no idea.

He mostly paces.

At one point, he has Winky bring him a chessboard and the finest wine she can get her hands on. However, he ends up just staring blankly at it, not sure who he would even ask to play. His only desire is to have a game with Lucius, and he's not sure where they'll be standing with each other.

When Harry finally returns, it's with Snape. He has one of Snape's arms around his shoulders, and his own arm is wrapped around Snape to support. Lucius walks closely behind, but Snape is managing to feebly walk beside Harry. He seems to be barely clinging to consciousness. He asks Winky to get pillows and blankets, and he rushes over to Harry to find out the situation.

Harry explains.

_In Snape's memories he saw potions hidden in a secret compartment of the Headmaster's office. Snape had forgotten to reclaim them before he was chased off. He did manage to hold on to one modified potion, which would make him appear dead while keeping him on the edge of life. He had taken it prior to going to Voldemort._

_Lucius has guessed his intentions; he had been ordered to assist in Voldemort doing further research on the Deathly Hallows, but Lucius had purposely misled him, partially by not correcting Voldemort coming to the wrong conclusions._

_Snape couldn't be sure that Voldemort would just leave without checking for certain. In any case, it kept Harry from being further distracted if Snape appeared dead._

_With the last of his strength after Harry left before the potion actually took full effect, he used a blood-slowing potion and antivenin._

_Of course, Lucius and Harry still had their work cut out for them, saving him. The effects of the near-death potion had to be reversed. His blood had to be replenished, his memories carefully restored, so on and so forth._

It didn't appear as though Snape was completely out of the woods yet. He laid on a table after it was padded with blankets and pillows brought by Winky. Harry hovers by his side, expression crumpled with worry. Ron comes to a realisation and smirks.

_Well, then._

Ron offers, “Uhh. You can probably find someone else to help?”

Winky bows and moves on.

Hermione comes up beside him. “What was that about?”

“She probably doesn't know what to do with herself, but she's not wailing all the time anymore, at least.”

Hermione hums. Draco makes a beeline for her, passing his father as he goes. Lucius pauses to watch him as he embraces Hermione. Draco whispers something. Hermione gasps and whispers something back. It's not hard to guess _what._ Ron draws closer, and he nods to Draco, who simply shoots him daggers as though he's destroyed the moment just by being there. Some things never change.

She cups Draco's cheek and kisses him, the most blunt evidence of their couplehood that he's seen, but it had been clear enough without. He smiles then averts his eyes politely. Lucius must do the same exact thing, because their eyes meet again. His stomach swoops, _again._ He goes a little weak in the knees at the prospect of talking to him more.

Merlin's pants, he has it fucking _bad._ At least he's an adult now, and he isn't racked with guilt for having questionably timed desires.

“Father.” Draco's arm is wrapped around Hermione when he turns. “I'm in love with Hermione. I don't need your approval to be with her, and you can't stop me. If I have to, I'll leave the bloody country.”

“Okay.”

Draco's fingers twitch. "What do you _mean_ \- ‘okay’? That's it? Just... 'okay'?"

“What do you want from me, Draco? It's been... a day.”

It sounds more like he wants to say _a month_ or even _a year._

_All of the above are true, Ron thinks._

“What do you think? She's muggleborn! If we have children-” Hermione makes a soft sound that Ron can't decipher. “They'll be half-bloods. For the first time in Malfoy history probably?”

Ron mutters, “Children?”

Since everyone in earshot presumably _knows_ , Draco grumbles, “Shut up, Weasley, for Merlin's sake. There's a rune based spell and a potion - my parents conceived _me_ without intercourse.”

Ron can believe that. He marvels at the fact that Draco's parents must have _told_ him that at one point, suggesting he's aware they didn't marry for love or fall in love.

“There are more important things than bloodlines. I want you to live your own life and be happy Draco, that is all I have ever wanted for you.” Lucius continues, “She makes you happy and you love each other? Then I'm happy for you.”

Draco glances helplessly at Ron as though expecting him to chime in. He turns back to his father. “What? What? You - I had a whole speech!”

“Well, now you can save your breath.” 

There’s a silent implication of _saving breath for more pleasurable purposes._

Ron can't help himself, he giggles. Lucius' eyes flick over him for a moment. Draco seems to notice the exchange, his lip curling. “Clearly you two... mental cases need a minute to yourselves.”

“That isn't nice, Draco,” Hermione reprimands, yet adjoins, “You are right, though.”

Her expression suggests she's just had an epiphany. Ron knows, he _knows_ , and he will definitely express his gratitude later that she didn't blurt it out in front of Lucius himself. At this rate, everyone will know before Lucius does.

Draco's arm drops to his side, but he tangles his fingers with Hermione's. They dissolve into some part of the Great Hall, because suddenly Ron can see nothing other than Lucius.

Stupidly he says, “Hullo.”

“Greetings.”

“Alright?”

“Not particularly.”

Ron scans him and frowns. He manages to push himself out of his lovey-dovey mindset for a second to notice how ragged Lucius truly is. Despite being out of Azkaban, he looks as though he hasn't properly cared for himself or had a good night's sleep.

“Want to have a drink and play chess?” He tries to smile, but it feels awkward. He's on the edge of confessing all his feelings, but holding himself on a tether of uncertainty.

What could Lucius possibly see in him? Why would he even be interested in a relationship at a time like this?

“Lord, yes.”

Ron pours two glasses. Lucius immediately downs the shallow wine glass in a few gulps. Ron sips on his own. He has tried drinking before, but he isn't sure of his tolerance. He doesn't want to be drunk. Lucius searches his expression.

“It will make me slightly buzzed at the most,” he says. Ron nods.

He turns the chess board to give Lucius the white side. He raises an eyebrow. Ron smirks and fights down the urge to reach down and trace the quirked brow with his thumb. Lucius makes his play.

  
  


***

“Checkmate.”

The king is defeated. Ron is the winner.

“I'm rusty mind you,” Lucius semi-complains. There's a hint of a smile.

“I'm just good and you're impressed, admit it.”

“You're good and I'm impressed.”

Ron, happening to be taking a sip of wine, sputters. “Git, you planned that.”

“Did not.”

“Well, I don't think I believe you, but you get a free pass this time - for being handsome, with your pretty eyes.”

Shit.

Ron glares at his wine glass.

Lucius releases a harsh exhale, but he doesn't immediately respond.

“Lu - Malfoy.”

His expression shutters. “What?”

“Erm. Don't you know how to take a compliment?”

“...Thank you?”

Ron sighs. “I've touched a sore spot haven't I?”

Lucius says, “To be honest, compliments about my looks, while sincere, usually lack value. They are a means to an end, an appeal. What's worse, are the men who have led me on without any actual interest in- hn. Rarely do any of them care about what's underneath.”

After a moment of Ron just staring at him, Lucius mutters, “Not that there's anything worth caring about.”

Ron nearly growls.

“Rubbish. Absolute rubbish. And stop that. Stop skirting ‘round it. If you want to tell me, just tell me.” Grabbing some of Snape's words from what feels so long ago he says, “I'm the least likely person to judge you badly for it.”

“I... fancy men. Is that what you mean?”

Ron claps his hands on the table. 

“Merlin's fucking pants. Finally. Thank you. I just - I thought I was bloody mental sometimes-” _If I was just kidding myself that you could feel that way,_ he doesn't add.

Taking a deep breath Ron adds, “Blokes, for me too. Since we're talking about it.”

Lucius' eyes widen a fraction. He stands up in a smooth motion and leaves. Ron drops his forehead on the table, and he almost misses Harry pulling himself from Snape's side for the first time to chase after him.

What is he -

Ron thinks of the type of person Harry can be at times and how much of a damned eavesdropper he can be.

_Shite. Shitty shite and fucking balls._

Ron sprints.


	5. Take Flight

Ron dashes to the Gryffindor dorms. 

He finds Harry at the bottom, staring at letters clutched in his hand. Ron knows which ones they are, including the one he’d written on the run which he’d thrown in during the armistice. Sentimental, but he didn’t want it destroyed by a stray spell. He flings himself forward and yanks them from Harry’s grip. However, Harry doesn't fight him.

“I wanted to help but -” Harry interrupts himself, “Once I got here I realised he should hear it from you, only if you want to. Sorry.”

“Yeah it’s - yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. Lucius just _fled_. He didn’t exactly answer Ron. “It’s really not… a problem?”

“Who you love is who you love. And… I understand, kind of. Severus…”

“Oh. I - I hope he recovers.”

Harry nods. He slides past Ron.

  
  


*** 

  
  


Ron isn’t sure where to look. As such, it takes him several minutes to finally locate Lucius in the hospital wing. He’s sifting through potions. He appears absolutely exhausted.

“You look knackered.”

Lucius startles, and one of the potions splatters on the floor. Ron winces.

“Sorry.”

“I’ve two hours of sleep in three or four days,” Lucius mutters. 

Merlin’s _pants._

Ron tugs on Lucius’ robes until he sits on one of the beds. “You should sleep, like right now. Unless you can’t? Do you have nightmares?”

“Yes.”

Ron digs through a cabinet knowingly and comes up with a Dreamless Sleep potion. He may have… pilfered (he knows that Madam Pomfrey knows that he knows that she knows) a few when he had some rather… unfortunately intense dreams about Lucius that caused him to wake up in an even more unfortunate state. It was never blatantly _sexual_ , that he can remember. He’s pretty sure they just played bloody chess in one of the dreams, and he woke up with a raging hard on. He’s surprised he kept himself together during an _actual_ game.

Even now, when Lucius’ eyes are on him, something stirs low in his abdomen. _Not the time. Not the bloody time. Caretaking first._ When he hands Lucius the potion, he just stares at it. Gently Ron suggests, “It’s a potion, to help you sleep. You’re supposed to drink it.”

He mimes tipping the potion into his mouth like it’s a glass of wine.

“I know. I…” Lucius takes a shuddering breath. Ron sits beside him and massages his shoulder, ignoring how it makes his entire arm heat up.

“Is there something you need to talk about? You can talk to me, mate.”

Lucius studies his face. Softly he says, “In… Azkaban. They were experimenting on us. Potions and the like, spells, curses - even tested the cruciatus and imperious. On my part, I was able to resist because of my training.”

Ron feels sick. Feeling a bit bold, he lays his hand on Lucius’ wrist and strokes his hand. Lucius stutters and looks down at their hands a moment.

Lucius continues, “Which only aggravated them of course. I was chained by the wrists in an attempt to… subdue me further. Taunts, jeers, but none of it mattered - all I could think about was my son in the clutches of Voldemort. They forced me to imbibe all manner of awful concoctions. Some even caused sores in my mouth, which they would _heal_ then inflict again.”

“I’ve barely eaten, in addition... because of the repulsive things that Voldemort did in my own dining room. It is… difficult for me to put anything into my mouth, even by my own hand,” Lucius admits. He’s shaking, at this point.

Ron wishes the context were different, so he could properly appreciate that last sentence. As it is, he clenches his jaw. He’ll have to relay this to Shacklebolt at some point - they shouldn’t go unpunished. It was inhuman. Even if some prisoners deserved no kindness, there had been innocent people who ended up there because of Umbridge, Voldemort, and goodness knows what other corruption within the Ministry. Was it still going on after Voldemort freed his followers and had innocents imprisoned?

Torturing prisoners wouldn’t bring back the people they had killed. It wouldn’t make any of them want to seek redemption. If anything, it would make the hate between the sides worse, criminals feel more justified for defying them.

Ron makes a show of taking a small sip of the potion. He presents it to Lucius and promises, “I would never want to hurt you. Whatever you have done in the past, I know you feel guilty. The past… can’t be changed, but we can make a better future.”

Lucius takes the potion. Ron can’t stop himself from watching the line of Lucius’ throat as he swallows. Ron leans forward to kiss his forehead, and he combs a slight knot out of his hair. He won’t be too overt yet. Lucius blinks at him. Then, he lowers himself to the bed. Eyeing him, Ron starts to feel drowsy. He squeezes onto the bed and throws his arm around Lucius before he nods off. He has an amusing image of Draco finding them, a look of utter disdain on his face - which causes him to snort before he falls asleep.

  
  
  
  


*** 

  
  


“Mister Weasley.” When he doesn’t stir, the voice like cinnamon tea hums, “Too ra loo. Too tooral looral loo. Too ra loo ra loo ral. Too ra loo.”

_What a delectable singing voice._

“Hmm… the name’s Ron, mate.” He squeezes his eyes shut tighter and burrows into the nearest thing that’s soft and warm. “Tha’s more of a lullaby y’know. Not helpin’.”

“You didn’t use my name earlier. I thought… perhaps you weren’t… comfortable with that.”

Ron bolts up and instantly realises what he’d been cuddling into was _Lucius._

“Oh. I was trying to - I didn’t know if you-” Ron clears his throat and changes the subject, “How are you feeling, Lucius?”

A hint of a smile and fingers brush his temple feather light. “Much better. Thank you.”

Ron opens his mouth, when he catches something from the corner of his eye. Across the tops of the pillows are letters. His stomach twists. Lucius follows his gaze.

Ron demands, “Did you read those?”

Lucius recoils, appearing sheepish. “You left them on the stand. Was I not supposed…? They were addressed to me…”

He must see something in Ron’s expression.

“It seems not. I apologise.”

Ron drops his head into his hands and groans in shame. He doesn’t remember verbatim everything he wrote, but he knows he confessed like a dozen times and waxed poetic on the last one. He forces himself to lift his gaze, hands sliding to cup his mouth and nose. His eyes catch on Lucius hair where some strands hang over his shoulders, and he notices there are slight curls on the ends. It looks like an act of rebellion. He drops his hands.

Numbly, he questions, “Is your hair naturally curly?”

“Mister Weasley-”

“The given name thing? That’s for you now, too.”

“Ron…”

“Look, I don’t really have anything to say for myself.” He takes a deep breath. He starts to ramble and gesticulates wildly. “Everything you need to know is in those letters. Do you need to hear it anyway? Fine. I fancy you! I’m bloody in love with you and it’s mental!”

Lucius seems to wait for him to continue, but he’s done. Lucius says, “Yes.”

“What?”

“I used to wear my hair in waves and curls unless I was attending a formal event.”

Stricken, Ron digs into his robes. Somehow, the picture survived undamaged since he pocketed it weeks ago. He found it in Gideon’s things - in a trunk which was located at Grimmauld Place. How it ended up there is uncertain. In the image, a boy is reading a book. He’s sporting a Slytherin tie. His blonde hair cascades in a white waterfall of elegant curls, not bushy and wild at the tips like Hermione, not that Ron doesn’t appreciate that about her. It’s nearly waist length, with some locks framing the face in an orderly manner. There’s a pair of thin-framed rectangular glasses perched on his nose, and Ron could swear the frame and earpieces are tinted green.

Young wizards and witches wearing glasses who are not muggleborn or muggle-raised is rare, but it’s not impossible. Most of them tend to get spellwork done or use potions on a given regular basis to strengthen their eyesight. Lucius must have started doing it when he was older - a pressure from his father and conforming to standards of blood purity, Ron wagers. He can guess the same for his straightened hair. From Hermione’s attempts, he’s learned that taming curly hair is a _process_ even for a talented witch or wizard, even if it’s professionally done at a hairdresser. 

The boy is perched on a seat against the window. A wand that’s a perfect match for Lucius’ supposed new one is next him. As it’s the usual enchanted image, another boy appears in the frame walking with a near-swagger that expresses self-confidence but not arrogance. He has short-cut yet fluffy, copper hair. His eyes are so impossibly blue, they seem to sparkle like the ocean in the sunlight. He has the dusting of freckles that are the signature of the Prewett family as red-hair was for the Weasley family. Gideon’s in particular are almost neatly dotted under his eyes, causing them to pop when he smiles. The boys seem to be about seventeen and are almost jealousy-provoking; since, they’re undeniable lookers.

The blond boy is expressionless, concentrating on his book. The not-quite-ginger boy throws himself onto the window seat, on his knees, and tugs the book down by an inch. He sports a winning grin. His Gryffindor tie - hanging free of his vest - covers the pages. The Slytherin boy peers at him over his glasses, and a lopsided smile graces his frigid features, dimpling his cheek. His head tilts ever so slightly, and light catches in his eyes - turning them from stone grey to polished silver. The image resets itself at that point. 

He holds it out to show Lucius. “I don’t know how I didn’t see it until now, that’s you and Gideon, isn’t it?”

No wonder Ron had liked looking at it, wishing he was in their place - except with him and Lucius, instead. He hadn’t even been sure it was Gideon, and not his brother Fabian, since he had never seen exact pictures of either.

“Yes… I have no idea who took that picture, but I suspect that Gideon may have colluded with his brother to get a candid photo of me. Fabian had that uncanny way of being able to predict my activities if he tried -” Lucius remarks, “Gideon used this to allow us to find time to talk between classes.”

_“You’re so cute._ Who can blame him?”

Lucius slightly rolls his eyes. Ron carefully tosses the photo over with the letters and places his palm on Lucius’ cheek. Lucius stills and looks at him. Ron almost leans in, then he pulls away and clenches his hand into a fist at his side.

“Did you fancy him?”

“I may have… entertained the idea. For most of my Hogwarts years, I tried to bury it, I figured I would end up betrothed to Andromeda. Until she fell in love with Tonks and was kicked out of the family that is.” Lucius continues, “I attended a Slughorn Party years after I’d graduated, where I ended up introducing Regulus to Gideon. The spark was instant. Any lingering feelings…”

“Ah.” Ron picks at a fingernail. Is that blood? He could probably use the most thorough bath of his life. He had brushed his teeth during the armistice facade, just to occupy himself for a minute, so at least his breath isn’t terrible. Just in case. “The wand?”

“The wand…. Oh, yes. My original wand was custom-made, from a magical ranch in France. I have distant cousins there. It is vine wood and an Apollon Pegasus feather as the core - they’re smaller and more lithe than the Abraxan breed. Their feathers must be offered freely or they turn to dust, making them notoriously rare as a wand core,” Lucius explains. “They’re particular about their appearance.”

“You were using a different one before, though?”

Lucius nods. “My father’s. It passed to me when he died. I didn’t… really want it. But… the serpentine handle itself was an heirloom of my mother’s family, it’s possible I’ve mentioned? So I took it in her memory. Also, my original wand… stopped working for me after I took the dark mark. It despises dark magic, and though I tried not to use dark spells, just the presence of the mark made it shy.”

Ron grins at that. “But it’s working again?”

“Well, yes and no. I haven’t… tested it since He died, but prior I could only cast defensive spells unless I borrowed someone else’s wand. He… took the other for use, and it splintered.”

Curious, Ron reaches from his right arm and pushes down the sleeve. What’s there isn’t what he expected. It _is_ a tattoo, but it’s of a red rose entangled with a white rose, and the inked words ‘Memory Remains’. Lucius is limp in his grasp. 

“Er-” Ron questions, “Draco’s was on his right arm so I thought -”

“Most Death Eaters have theirs on the right arm. I am the sole exception that I know of. I got it in my seventh year, after I turned eighteen. I got a little… inebriated, and Gideon talked me into it. He knew a place from Tonks. It is borderline taboo for a Pureblood to have their skin marked in this way,” Lucius says. Ron rests his cheek on Lucius’ upper arm and closes his eyes, just listening to his voice. He expects Lucius to tense at the contact, but he does not.

“Funny, how they accepted the dark mark then.” Ron adds. He is charmed by the rest of the information. He wants to wrap the current blossoming of curls in Lucius’ hair around his fingers and encourage him to embrace the spirit again.

“I think it was a joke to The… to Him. Come to think of it, he mocked a lot of Pureblood traditions and purist views, even while he endorsed them.”

“Since you like fun facts? Voldemort was a half-blood, according to Harry.”

Something in Lucius face twitches, like he wants to laugh. “Yes, I remember his claim. Makes sense, then. I long suspected he manipulated Purebloods, but he cared little for the superiority of their views. Not that he had any affection for muggles, but if he could’ve manipulated Half-Bloods and Muggleborns as easily, to follow him instead, I believe he would have.”

“Severus is a half-blood, as is Fenrir Greyback. Each with a muggle parent. I doubt he did not know, even though they kept it a secret from most of their peers,” Lucius adds.

“Wow.” He knew about Severus (Half-Blood Prince and all), but not Greyback. Strange. “This is like old times, isn’t it?” 

Ron offers a messy grin. Lucius smiles in return, and Ron’s heart flutters. Ron remarks, “So are you ever going to let the curls out again? I think you’d look nice. What happened to all of that?”

He can assume the answer, but he’d rather hear it. 

“My ‘femininely’ long, curly hair, neglecting to take the monthly potion to fix my eyes, running around with Gideon, Fenrir, ‘Meda, and Edward, the tattoo - as a child I was naive, I felt invincible. I did what I could as small acts of rebellion against my father. But... when push came to shove, I finally fell in line.”

“You don’t have to… not anymore,” Ron urges. “You didn’t force Draco.”

“Draco is young. He can still… form his own reputation with his deeds,” Lucius argues unsteadily. “In the minds of your side… they won’t easily forget my allegiance with the Death Eaters, with the Dark- with - with Voldemort.”

Ron reaches for his left arm. As expected he flinches away. “Let me. It’s not like I don’t know.”

“I know. Seeing is different than knowing,” Lucius parrots his own words from the last letter. Ron gives him a stern look and pulls away his sleeve.

Lucius seems as surprised as he is - a deep, jagged, pink scar was all that remained. Lucius touched it lightly with the fingertips of his other hand. Then, he brandishes his wand. 

He calls, “Reducto!”

A pillow on another bed is turned to dust. He stares at his wand as though seeing it for the first time. Then, Lucius whips his wand in a circular motion, without using the command. His patronus appears. Wondering, he casts his own as well even though Lucius is just testing the strength of the once dormant wand.

Both Patronuses flicker before forming. At first, Lucius’ takes the shape of the terrier, while Ron’s is the bulldog, then they change both into terriers - both into bulldogs - before finally settling into their original shapes. Ron’s Patronus sits up on its haunches in front of Lucius’, while Lucius’ dances around and enters a play bow before they each disappear.

Ron ponders if there’s any records of how Patronuses react to each other when used simultaneously by a pair who are -

He should ask Hermione about it, when he gets the chance.

“I see,” Lucius breathes.

Before Ron can react, he is cupping Ron’s cheeks, and Lucius’ lips are upon his. It’s a light brush that barely makes a sound, but it sends heat into Ron from his head to his toes. He places his hands on Lucius shoulders - marvelling at how close they are in height now, how did he miss that - and doesn’t let him escape. He kisses him full on the mouth and moans, soft and low. Lucius cups the back of his head with the hand not holding his wand. He licks across the seam of Ron’s lips with the tip of his tongue. He groans, opens his mouth, and touches his tongue to Lucius’ upper lip as an invite.

  
  


His tongue dips into Ron’s mouth as though it has always belonged there. Ron can already feel his trousers getting tight. It seems he still has some adrenaline left. When they break for a breather, Ron mutters, “Why now? You read the letters. I - I told you I fancy you.”

“I was giving you the chance to rethink.”

Ron stares at him. _“What?”_

Instead of elaborating, Lucius pulls him back in. They’re kissing again, the heat and fervor increased this time. Lucius is still oddly tentative and gentle, only kissing harder when Ron initiates it. There’s an underlying hunger, though. Lucius hurriedly puts away his wand at last, and he runs his palms along Ron’s sides. Ron dips his fingers into Lucius’ thick, silky hair and carefully drags his nails across his scalp. This time, Ron pushes his tongue into Lucius’ mouth, flicking, and he slides one hand down to stroke the scruff on his jawline with one hand. It’s a reminder - _he fancies a man and that’s alright. Better than good, in fact._

He’s also _so damn hard._ Lucius hums, and Ron groans with _want._ He pulls away, noting the shiny wetness of Lucius’ lips. Ron mutters, “I’m hard.”

For emphasis, he pushes his hips forward. Lucius swallows and sharply inhales. “I notice that. Do you want -”

Ron slams his mouth back onto Lucius. He fists his hands in his robes and backs up until he falls onto the nearest bed. He brackets Lucius’ hips with his legs and pulls him on top. His arms encircled Ron’s head. When Ron lightly thrusts up into him a few times, Lucius responds with a firm thrust of his own, dragging the evidence of his own arousal across Ron’s inner hip.

Gasping, Ron pushes him up slightly to get a view of his lower body. He slips his hands under Lucius’ turtleneck to find the button of his trousers - which he unlatches, of course. He can feel Lucius’ tent through the material, as well as a wet spot. Somehow, even that turns him on more. Lucius braces himself, palms flat on the bed when Ron shoves his pants down and takes his cock in hand. Lucius groans and immediately thrusts into the circle of his fist. He breathes Ron’s name one time before he dissolves into another wordless noise. Lucius stands back momentarily, so that Ron can push his own trousers down to his ankles. He throws himself back on the bed, causing his member to smear pre-come on his belly. Ron grabs at the bedsheets when Lucius darts forward to lick it off, tongue chasing his freckles where they disappear into his trail.

Lucius leans over Ron once more.

“You are… quite hung,” Lucius murmurs disantly. Ron’s ears heat, surprising him that he has any blood to spare.

“You’re quite sexy,” Ron blurts.

He’s kissing Ron again, and Ron doesn’t think he could get enough of his. Ron considers he might keep this length of his hair when Lucius starts running his fingers continuously up and down through the strands as he’s kissing him. There’s an eagerness to his movements that is just _fucking hot._ Lucius breaks away and leaves pecks on his face - it takes a moment for Ron to realise he’s kissing Ron’s _freckles_ , and that makes his stomach flip-flop for some reason.

Ron, because he apparently has to lead in some situations, begins to thrust, brushing their pricks together. He tightens his legs around Lucius. Ron had sex before, but this is Earth-shattering, because it’s _Lucius_ and... lord... Merlin, King Arthur, Morgana, Mordred, Godric, Salazar, _finally._

New sounds arise from Lucius at the slide of their pricks. “Ah, A- _ha, Ah, Ah-”_

Ron’s stomach experiences a wave of aggressive flutters inside. Lucius closes his eyes and kisses a line along Ron’s neck. He sucks at the juncture between Ron’s neck and shoulder. Ron moans. Lucius thrusts harder. Adjusting a bit, Ron reaches between their bodies and dampens his hand with pre-come before stroking their shafts. Lucius grunts, then he whines through his nose when Ron’s finger brushes over the slit of his prick. His fingers tug slightly at Ron’s hair and his expression slackening.

“I’m coming -” Lucius bites out hoarsely, then he does. “Ahhhn! Hnn!”

His body shudders in fits, and he thrusts a few more times as he spills. Ron’s grip is loosened as his gaze is rapturously locked on Lucius throughout his orgasm. Lucius limply retrieves his wand between two fingers and flicks it to vanish the mess. 

Rubbing Lucius’ back where he can reach, Ron rhetorically inquires, “Been a long time for you?”

He isn’t expecting the response.

“No.”

“Oh?”

Lucius retreats from his neck, but he doesn’t go too far. He rests a hand on Ron’s knee. “It would not have reflected well, if I’d been caught in an ‘affair’. Though Narcissa and I both have attraction only to our own sex, the public was unaware - open marriage is not a _proper Pureblood_ ‘lifestyle’.”

“But you said -”

Lucius cuts him off, “I never had the chance to indulge. That doesn’t preclude erotic books with moving images, mind you, and the company of my own hand.”

Ron scans his face as he processes. Oh. He means no as in, it hasn’t been a long time because there hasn’t _been a time._ He _deflowered_ Lucius. Draco’s _father._ Hermione’s voice echoes in his head - 

_“Virginity is just a construct, Ronald, by men seeking control.”_

_“What are you waiting for, then?”_

_“None of your business!”_

_What the hell._ What the hell? Lucius is so beautiful, soft spoken, intelligent - it doesn’t sound like a simple preference as in the case of Hermione, who is purposefully prudent, or Harry, who is asexual. Lucius clearly wants ardour this way.

“What? No dalliance at Hogwarts?”

Lucius scoffs. “Consider my family name. Do you think there was any repressed classmate whom I could trust? Suspicions and accusations were bad enough, there were many who would jump at the chance to both sleep with me and ruin my name by revealing it and claiming they were coerced. Veritaserum was not invented yet.”

“But -”

“Any Slytherin would use it as leverage. Any person from another house could use the reputation of Slytherin to get away with slander.” Lucius pauses. “With one obvious exception, but he never…”

“Yeah.. alright.” Ron sighs, and he pecks Lucius on the lips. 

“Will you lay back?”

Ron relaxes back into the bed. He says with a grin, “Look at us. Rutted in an abandoned part of the school like a couple of randy teenagers.”

Lucius hums. He lowers his head. He kisses Ron’s knee where his hand rests and continues to kiss down his inner leg up to his thigh. Lucius spreads his legs wider, and the air punches out of Ron when his tongue is pressed flat to Ron’s bollocks, and he laves them. Ron shifts to rest on his elbows. His eyes flick up to meet Ron’s briefly, before he moves further up and moves his hand to Ron’s stomach. His pre-come dribbles onto the back of Lucius’ hand. 

Wait - _“Ohhh.”_

Lucius had flicked his tongue to lap at the head of his cock. His silky lips caress the foreskin, and then he’s taking the head into the heat of his mouth. Ron groans again. “Luciusss, yes, yes, oh _Lucius.”_

Lucius wraps his hand around the base and takes in a little more of Ron’s member. Ron strokes Lucius’ hair, concentrating on the locks cascading through his fingers, as to not come too soon to enjoy this. Lucius’ mouth latched to his cock is decidedly the best sensation in his life so far. 

Lucius inhales through his nose and he slides down until the tip of his cock must hit the back of Lucius’ throat. Unfortunately, Ron makes the mistake of reflexively thrusting in response to the increased intensity. Lucius pulls off with a slight cough into his hand. 

Ron rushes out, “Sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to -”

“I’m fine,” Lucius reassures. “You mostly took me off guard.”

Lucius swallows Ron down again. He hollows his cheeks and everything from there is a blur of sensation and the sound of his own needy moans. He manages to bark out a warning and push Lucius off. Lucius throws up an arm to cover his forehead before he is able to grip Ron’s member and stroke him through his climax. He notably angles it away from himself. 

As he’s twitching with the last of it, Ron giggles at Lucius. “What are you doing?”

“My hair,” Lucius laments. He lowers his arm, once Ron is spent. 

“Couldn’t you just spell it -”

Lucius glares at him.

“Okay, okay, not your precious hair, understood.” He tugs Lucius forward for a kiss.

After a moment, Lucius retreats. His expression is suddenly dark and closed. Ron senses a shift in mood, but he doesn’t see the reason. Lucius straightens and buttons his trousers. Ron scrambles to cover himself again with his own, feeling self-conscious now that the heat of the moment has passed. However, Lucius isn’t even looking at him.

“I admit I’m… surprised, and flattered, that you still desired me in this state,” Lucius murmurs.

Well, then. Ron isn’t the only insecure one between them, it seems. Emphatically he says, “You’re so gorgeous. And intelligent. And the sound of your voice is like music I never get tired of -”

“Stop.”

Ron’s mouth snaps closed and his eyebrows furrow.

“We… cannot do this.”

Now, his eyebrows rise. “What? Why not? What do you mean?”

When Lucius meets his gaze, his eyes are soft. “A bird needs to spread its wings before building a nest. I think you should… take some time to establish yourself and recover from everything that happened during the war.”

“I- Lucius.” Ron huffs and insists, “I _love_ you.”

Lucius’ fingers of his right hand twitch. “I don’t doubt you. If you still have those feelings... by that time, so be it.”

“But how long?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, two years at least.”

“Two _years?”_ Ron pauses to think. He whispers, voice shaking, “That’s only how long Uncle Gideon and Regulus got to be _together._ Lucius -”

“Please, don’t. I’m old - not by Wizard standards, but old _er._ I don’t think I would be capable of loving anyone else if _I tried._ If you get… bored… what tatters are left of my soul could not bear it.”

“I won’t!”

“Distance is said to make the heart fonder. To be honest, I need time too. You do realise, it is only as of today I was capable of developing feelings for you? It requires contemplation. It is not wise to rush into this on the heels of war’s end,” Lucius asserts. 

Ron takes a deep breath. He feels like crying. He contains himself. 

“You’re right,” Ron concedes, voice barely audible. It takes Lucius brushing his thumb across Ron’s face, for him to realise tears have broken through.

“I’m sorry, Ron. I just don’t want you to regret this.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When Ron returns to the great hall, there’s a small amount of fuss over where he disappeared off to. Once Harry is alone with him, he questions, “Well?”

Ron lowers his voice. “I - I think we’re in love, and I slept with him. But we’re… taking a break?”

“A break? After not even a whole day?”

“At least this way, I won’t frighten him off by being needy.”

Harry doesn’t look amused. “Maybe we should bring Hermione into this. She might have a different insight.”

“She’ll probably get Draco involved, and someone will have to explain it to him. I’d rather not.”

“So? I mean, he might know something about Lucius, being his son and all.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant. I’ll just tell him, Malfoy, I fucked your dad! But he doesn’t want to be my boyfriend, _woe is me_. You want me to look like a bloody tosser?”

Nearby, Lucius chokes on his wine but forces himself to swallow. The Blacks - Sirius, Andromeda, and Narcissa - look at Ron and Harry as though they’ve sprouted horns. Ron realises he said a part of the sentence _too loud._

“What was that about shagging my father, Weasley? You think you’re funny?” Draco rants, “If you have a problem with me say it to my face! Is this about Hermione? I’ll kick your arse, Weasley.”

Next to him, Hermione covers part of her face with her palm - seeming momentarily embarrassed to be associated with any of them. 

Ron gestures pointedly. Harry runs a hand through his own hair. 

“...It was just a suggestion.”

  
  


*** 

  
  
  


Ron starts writing letters to Lucius. What’s brilliant, is that Lucius can respond to them again. Ron tries his best to restrain himself from pouring his affections all over the pages. It will make Lucius feel guilty, even though he’s just trying to do the right thing.

He writes to Draco as well, reminding him to drag his father out of where he’s holed up in the mansion once in a while. Draco’s responses are snippy, but he seems to take Ron’s advice if the glimpses at Diagon Alley are anything to go by. Ron has to keep his distance in public, or else he’ll fling himself into Lucius’ arms, kiss him, and beg him to reconsider.

  
  


*** 

_Dearest Lucius,_

_Do you want to write each other again? I’m dying of boredom because of this lockdown during the Ministry investigation. I’ve heard that the perpetrators of the Azkaban torturings have already been apprehended. They won’t hurt you or anyone ever again. I hope that helps you sleep better._

_I care about you. It’s alright if we just talk, right?_

_Please respond._

_Yours,_

_Ron W._

*** 

_Dearest Ronald,_

_I apologise again for my decision, but I will not rescind it._

_I’ve been thinking about what to write. If memory serves, I owe you a story or two. I find it easier to write after all. How about this? My animagus._

_Fenrir and I met in first year. A couple of Gryffindors were teasing him about the rumor of his muggle mother. I told them off. We were fast friends after that. Fenrir wasn’t a talkative boy, but we had a rapport in a Slytherin way that I can’t properly explain to a former Gryff. When Slytherins can trust each other without saying it in so many words, it means something._

_Before his fourteenth birthday, he was bitten by a werewolf. It was in a neighborhood where two muggleborns above our year happened to live. Prior to the incident, they used to play together. According to Fen, they ran toward the noise. They could’ve done something, gotten help, anything, they watched as the werewolf bit Fenrir, then they ran away._

_I’m not aware of whether or not you were taught about werewolves, but the first people they uncontrollably attack are those they are closest to or those who have wronged them. That summer, he killed his muggle mother, then the neighboring students - in his werewolf form. For a taste of what his life was like, she used to beat and insult him, taking it out on him for his father’s death, claiming that Wizardry was a curse and evil._

_I know it was recently revealed that Mister Potter’s home life was unsavory. It shows that one can rise from the ashes. However, many do not get the chance. Everyone expected Fenrir to be a certain way from his upbringing. None of them actually tried to help him be anything else. So, he didn’t believe it either. I wish I could’ve done more, but I wasn’t much better off._

_Gideon was kind to us, but in the end when he saw we were becoming what everyone expected, he gave up. I suppose he sought to right his wrongs with Regulus, but he felt it was too late for Fenrir and I . . ._

_Anyway, Fenrir was worried about what would happen if he transformed at Hogwarts. If he didn’t get away in time. He feared he would be kicked out. He had nowhere else to go. So, I researched. I became an Animagus. Every full moon, I would lead him away from any students. The curfew was more lenient back then, students would play Quidditch in the evening, wander the grounds and the forest, etcetera._

_You know... The first time around, Fenrir had not joined Voldemort. He was a consultant. He would lend his tracking and intimidation skills. Only because Voldemort threatened his pack. His pack was the most important thing to Fenrir, aside from his wife and child._

_Yes, he had those. Another secret I kept for someone else. His wife. She was a muggleborn who had chosen to bind her magic and leave our world. One day, someone framed Fenrir for a few infractions, and let slip his werewolf status. He lost his job, and he forgot to keep track of his transformation in his anger. He killed his wife and nearly his child, had she not locked herself in a closet. Her name was… Hellen… Haley… No. Hannah, I think? The Ministry took custody of her and obliviated her. Fenrir was an empty shell after that. When Voldemort returned, he took advantage of that._

_Fenrir couldn’t be affected by the Cruciatus. This baffled Voldemort. Fenrir explained to me, nothing compares to the pain of giving and having love, only to have it suddenly, cruelly ripped out more or less by your own undoing. He had nothing left inside to be tormented._

_Something for you to commiserate on, Ron._

_Yours,_

_Lucius M._

*** 

_Dearest Lucius,_

_You are not really implying that I intend to rip your heart out? Who do you think I am?_

_I continue to respect your decision because I lo_

_Thanks for sharing this story with me. I’m sorry about your friend. I don’t know how, but I can tell you feel guilty about what happened to him. It’s true that his motivations don’t excuse his actions, but not everyone can be as blessed as Harry when it comes to role models and friendships. He tried to use an unforgivable on Bellatrix, once. Well, that was in one of my foresight dreams, and it didn’t come true, but. He isn’t perfect, like when he badly wounded Draco with an unknown curse from a mysterious book._

_Erm. Didn’t know if you knew about that. They’re okay now, so don’t worry about it too much._

_I bet you’re an adorable Peacock. Also, I heard from Hermione that Draco can’t stand to be at the manor after all, and he’s moving in with her at the Burrow. Not the same room of course! They’re both utter prudes, not that I’m insulting it. I envy them a bit._

_Yours,_

_Ron W._

*** 

_Dearest Ronald,_

_I know about the move. I shall be lonely. I did not attempt to stop Draco, because it’s true that the events of the past few years haunt him at every corner. I see it in his eyes. I will not begrudge him. I despise it here too, but I have nowhere else to go._

_There was a time that I thought Voldemort was going to win. When those snatchers brought you and Hermione in, it was obvious that it had to be Harry who was with you. I just wanted Draco to, well. You heard me plead with him to earn Voldemort’s forgiveness. Far from my proudest moment, that, and hardly the first or last shameful one._

_I had lost even my pride and dignity, at that point. I wanted it to be better for Draco, at least. He looked always on the verge of tears or like he wanted to vomit. Even I was having trouble keeping my practiced guise, as I constantly shook with fear and disgust or could not raise my voice to a reasonably audible level unless provoked._

_I knew he didn’t really want this. After Miss Granger was tortured, Draco begged me to kill Bellatrix. He didn’t believe he could use an unforgivable. I’m afraid I was too weak from Azkaban and the lack of rest. I could not have risked it, anyway. I have not spoken to Miss Granger since war’s end, but do let her know that she is a brilliant and honourable witch, and I could wish for no one better to be with my son._

_I looked at you. I don’t know if you were aware. Just for a second, and it almost gave me a flash of warmth, hope that the chill immediately chased away. You kept your eyes forward. I wanted to take those arseholes’ hands off you and your friends and curse them senseless. I would not have lived long. Voldemort likely would’ve killed my family as well._

_It was not my intention to insinuate that you would bring me to ruin if we had continued right now. I just want you to appreciate what you have. Appreciate all you have done to work for and deserve the love you receive and give to others. I may have cared deeply for my friends, but I was not the friend that any of them needed. I wasn’t the man I should’ve been, could’ve been. I didn’t do all that I could, and thus I received little mercy, myself._

_I do, however, wish to move forward. I can’t repair the past, or my mistakes. What I can do - I can finally allow myself to learn from them. I want to share this with others, as well. I don’t think I will ever be forgiven by the general population, but I will strive to be worthy of yours, at least. I have sought to do so before I was even certain of how much you cared._

_There are precious few who have told me that I, I myself, can change my future. You have made me truly believe in my decisions and that I can make them with good outcomes._

_Yours,_

_Lucius M._

*** 

_Dearest Lucius,_

_I wanted to believe for a long time in the goodness inside you. I’m so glad you can finally believe in it too. I’m glad you feel confident in letting others see who you are, who you want to be. Trust in yourself. Don’t let other peoples’ grudges hold you back._

_If Draco ever claims you aren’t a good father, I’ll smack him. When I told my dad I was moving to Grimmauld Place, he wasn’t too pleased. He didn’t understand. Like you said, I need to spread my wings. Sirius and Harry are working on it. Repairs, refurbishing, the ugly family tree is gone. Curses were lifted and portraits removed. If you want, you could come live here. When you’re ready. I imagine being this close to me right now would not be ideal._

_The offer stands, though. Even if we don’t_

_Remember to take care of yourself, not just your garden. As much as I like getting such a fast response, I hope you’re leaving your study and house once in a while!_

_Yours,_

_Ron W._

  
  
  


*** 

_To The Biggest Tosspot That I Know,_

_Sorry, mate, couldn’t resist. Does your father ever get out of the damned house? His letter responses to me are worryingly long and quick. I just want to check he’s not rotting away in there. I doubt he would admit it to me to avoid_

_Er, nevermind. Just make sure he gets sunlight and sweet treats. You had better not be ignoring him, or I will be forced to come over there and help you bond. He needs it more than ever, especially since you’re moving out. Rest assured he is not unhappy with you for that. He wants the best for you, even if he suffers in silence._

_You don’t want me to stage an intervention do you?_

_Regards,_

_Ron Weasley_

  
  


*** 

  
  


_To Weasley,_

_Piss off. Mate? Who’s your mate??? When did I sign up for that? Just because I told you some personal shite? I wasn’t in my right mind._

_Of course I’ll get him out of the house, daft arse. Also, Hermione had me bring him “healthy treats” the other day like he’s a fat crup on a diet or something. His ribs are probably still showing, which I noticed when my mother and I had to change him out of his Azkaban garb. He was delirious. I don’t think that warden twat fed the prisoners, or it was poisoned because he looks at food like it’s going to bite him. When he does eat, it’s like he’s trying to fit as many morsels into his mouth at once as he can without choking. It reminds me of the Gryffindor table after Quidditch practice. Except he still pats his mouth with a cloth like he’s dining with the bleeding Minister for Magic._

_Fuck I did it again._

_Anyway._

_It’s bloody awkward but we’re trying to be a proper father and son. You’re to blame for that, I bet. By the way - Don’t think I have forgotten your tasteless jest in the Great Hall. Say anything like that again, I know at least eleven curses that aren’t technically illegal and can’t be traced back to me._

_Piss all the way off,_

_D.M._

  
  


*** 

  
  


_Dearest Ronald,_

_I recall, after some rumination, another story you wanted._

_As for what happened to Gideon? We - the Death Eaters - were just on a reconnaissance mission. There wasn't supposed to be a fight. A group of young order members had gotten wind of it and decided to prove themselves. Even Voldemort didn't send in the undertrained at that time. Sirius Black, James Potter, Remus Lupin, and a fourth whose name escapes me now. Naturally, those three were the firecrackers, dragging another into danger as well._

_Dolohov... he was sick. Not in a malleable, psychological sort of manner, in fact his sadism was disturbingly sane. He attacked those children (in comparison to our experience) without a second thought. Fenrir was with us, not a true Death Eater, but a consultant of sorts as I mentioned. He never did take the mark, when Voldemort came back, either. There were other Death Eaters, but they are insignificant in this story. They battled with restraint relative to Dolohov, though._

_“They're just children,” Fenrir said to me. “This isn’t a fair fight.”_

_Slytherins care about fair? Sometimes. We have some honour, when it suits us. I agreed with him, of course. Even before I had Draco and felt quite ill at the thought of hurting you and your friends in the Department of Mysteries, I didn’t desire a bloody duel with young wizards and a witch not yet in their twenties._

_Gideon and Fabian showed up. Now, they were a formidable force. Fenrir and I attempted to stop Dolohov before it got too brutal, even Voldemort wouldn’t be pleased if we made a mess at that time. Dolohov went after the elder Black. The foolish boy had taunted him, in particular. Fenrir was stunned by a stray spell, and I had been disarmed when I intervened. Dolohov would’ve killed me._

_Gideon pushed me aside. He was unable to raise a protective barrier in time, and Dolohov’s spell sliced into his neck. He was dead when he hit the ground. I did not get to say goodbye. Fabian survived the battle, but he was distraught. Plagued by night terrors. He went to St. Mungo’s. His life ended there, despite the healers’ best efforts. There isn’t a potion or spell to give back the will to live when you’ve lost your younger brother who meant more to you in the world than anyone, anything else._

  
  


_I’m sorry to share with you a tale so morbid, but you are the inquisitive one. I replaced Gideon’s body with that of a transfigured dead bird (yes, I used the Killing Curse on it, but it was old and ailing anyway) in order to bury him in the seclusion of my manor’s cemetery. Even if there had been light for you to see the tombstones, they were glamoured to not be visible unless you knew the truth._

_Regulus broke after that. He’d been expecting Gideon to meet him in a gazebo at my garden. I knew, because I spied on them in my Animagus form. I went to Regulus. He thought I’d done something with Gideon at first, as though I could ever. I told him Gideon couldn’t see him again._

_He asked, “Why? What did you do?”_

_I said he’s gone and he isn’t coming back. I could not bear to be more explicit than that, but Regulus seemed to get the picture. He sobbed and screamed incoherently at me, I was numb and could do no more than silently hold him. A month later, after rigorous and secluded studying in my library, he disappeared._

_When he returned. His house elf had apparated them into my garden. He was soaking wet and nearly dead. He couldn’t utter a word, only a shaky breath before his life was gone. He died in my arms. Like a brother to me, but I had tried to dissuade him from being with Gideon. Gideon told me I should want him to be happy, when I did the same to him. He was right. I just couldn’t see a future that ended well for them. I was also right. I truly did not want to be right._

_The elf gave me the stupid locket, and I kept it for some time before ridding myself of it under the guise that the elf should have the heirloom in the Black house where it belongs. This was only after I knew what the diary was. I did the same with Reg’s corpse as I did with Gideon’s, because I knew they’d want to be buried together. They were terribly sentimental that way._

_Regulus had planted white roses in the cemetery a while before, saying he wanted to brighten up the place and joking that it represented “purity”. Underlying the joke, I think he actually meant purity of the soul and heart. Gideon preferred red roses, stating they were “more romantic and cheerful” than the sombre white ones. I planted some in Gideon’s honor after he’d been murdered... over the years, they cross-pollinated and became as one. Poetic, I think._

_I hope, wherever they are, they know that the love of a Slytherin toward a Gryffindor no longer seems to end only in misery. I hope they’re together and happy in a peaceful eternity._

_Yours,_

_Lucius M._

  
  
  


*** 

_Dearest Lucius,_

_That is the saddest bleeding thing I have ever heard. It’s almost as depressing as playing with little Teddy Lupin and remembering his parents and granddad didn’t make it. Regardless, thanks for sharing that with me. It must’ve been even more difficult for you to tell that than it was for me to read. I can’t form much of a response to this._

_Would you mind if I showed Harry, Snape (if he wakes up), Draco, and Hermione? It would hold a lot of meaning for them, I think. I’ll alter the addresses, of course, to be more distanced. Er, at least two or three of them still don’t know that we are this close._

_They’d appreciate being buried beside each other for sure. I’m certain they’ve found peace, if there’s any justice in this world or the next._

_Yours,_

_Ron W._

*** 

_Dearest Ronald,_

_Apologies again for upsetting you. I figured it would. Know that I do not hold the same dread for our future, though I dare not have too much hope after everything._

_You can tell whomever you like. Before you, I would’ve taken the secret to my grave, but there is no reason now. I think they would preen to have the story of their love, woeful as it turned out, be spread._

_Yours,_

_Lucius M._

  
  


*** 

  
  


The summer is almost unbearably slow. He helps restore Hogwarts, and he helps Harry set up Grimmauld Place into a boarding house for people who don't really have a home or want a cheap place to live that is a contained community. 

Harry takes care of Snape at the shrieking shack, which he and Harry clean up. After briefly awakening, Snape fell back into a coma when his wound got infected with dark magic residue that was missed. Ron had to talk Harry out of beating himself up over it - then repeat with Lucius once he updated him through the letter, and he had a similar reaction. 

Despite being the owner of the newly renamed “Silver Stag & Serpent Boarding House”, Harry basically lives at the shack. Ron bounces between hanging out there to get away from the hubbub and inking letters at the desk in Regulus Black’s old room. The shack has a lovely piano, which Ron dedicates some time to learning. 

Sirius Black wants nothing to do with running the place, but he does make an appearance to dote on Remus and Tonks’ son. He doesn’t get much conversation with Harry, given how busy he is between running the boarding house and looking after Snape. 

Neither does Ron, and he finds himself spending his time - when not writing to Lucius or fantasizing about him - with Neville, Draco, Hermione, and Luna who all live at the boarding house. They aren’t the only occupants, though. He avoids Nott because they don’t have much in common, as well as Zabini after he finds out Blaise is dating his sister. Draco and Hermione have roomed together after moving out of their temporary stay at Ron’s parents’. Neville has set up an indoor magical herb garden - a stunning accomplishment done with a levitating, enchanted object imitating the effects of sunlight.

Draco is more like a frenemy, the two throwing snarky quips over breakfast and dueling after lunch. Hermione is convinced they’re best friends and is delighted. Neville and Luna obviously fancy each other, but Ron stays out of it for now. They’re all still young. Ron practices coming out to his blood relatives in the mirror, then he writes and rewrites it several times, each time balling up the letters and throwing them away.

One day, Ron walks into the shack to see that Snape has recovered. He immediately sends a Patronus to Harry. As soon as he walks in the door, he embraces Snape, who reciprocates despite being confused by the gesture. Ron excuses himself at that point, but Harry later relays that Snape seems healthy now and that he loves Harry - to which Ron makes exaggerating gagging noises. When he passes on this message to Hermione, she and Draco react the same, but they all know without saying they’re happy for their friend.

Snape becomes Harry's mentor in potions. 

Harry tells him, “Sorry Ron, I know we kind of mapped things out in the case we all survived...but. I'm tired of fighting. I want to create, I want to heal.”

“No, I totally get it, Harry. I don't think I want to be an Auror anymore. Don't know what else I could do, though.”

“I'm sure you'll figure something out.”

A girl asks Ron out, and he nearly blurts, “I have a boyfriend.”

He doesn't, but he _wants_ to, oh how he wants to. He's not exactly clear on where he and Lucius stand, but the flirtatious overtone in their letters speaks for itself. 

The former 7th years are invited to return to Hogwarts. A merry twenty-two of them agree, including Hermione and Draco, which doesn't surprise Ron.

Ron also returns.


	6. Alight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some of my most favorite dialogue lines I've ever written. Also... extra warning in case it was missed: self-harm tag applies this chapter, as well as alcoholism, homophobia/homophobic speech, and mentions/discussions of abuse : (  
> No smut in *this* chapter, but it's coming ~

The former 7th years, dubbed “Apprentice Mages”, have their own dorm built into Hogwarts as areas are being repaired, and they sport violet and beige as they are no longer affiliated with a house. Ron makes up a banner for them anyway - sporting a Peacock as the mascot which earns a bemused look from Draco.

Draco, in a show of initiative, sets up a weekly “Quidditch Bracket” so that the Apprentices who love Quidditch can play competitive games.

Ron rewrites the rules for it, so that the snitch is no longer guaranteed a game ender - the catch of the snitch is scored higher or lower based on the amount of goals and points given to the types of players for their performances. Having such dependency on the seeker when they have a small pool of players would just be uneventful.

Ron still has his broom that was a gift from Lucius, even though it’s a bit outdated now, and he is filled with glee the first Saturday he takes to the air.

Hermione holds a lecture about the treatment of House Elves and how they can show their appreciation by at least not treating them as lowly. Ron doesn’t fall asleep, but Draco does. Ron draws a smiling otter face and coloured in heart on his right cheek. He shrieks in the mirror the next morning, then chases Ron out of the dorm and down the hall. 

Through a petition which had been signed by everyone in the boarding house and then some - Snape has become something of an iconic figure - Snape gets reinstated as headmaster. Ron expected that, and he reflects on how he once made a  _ joke _ about having Snape as headmaster instead of Umbridge, and the irony of him being glad about it now. 

Meanwhile, Sirius Black is hired as the D.A.D.A. professor. He expresses on the first day of classes that he isn’t disciplined enough to be suited to teaching, but he’ll try his best until they find someone more suitable. Sirius and Snape must have had a conciliation at some point, because they seem fairly amicable. They do tease each other a bit, reminding Ron of his relationship with Draco. It makes him smile, and he takes a mental note to get Draco something small for his birthday. 

None of that surprises him, but he’s in for it.

  
  


As a “community service” Lucius Malfoy is the potions professor. The thing is, no one fucking  _ breathed _ a word.  _ Someone _ must have known. They did receive a memo listing the professors and materials, but at Potions Class it just said “Professor: Unknown. To be announced”. It was never announced, and Ron is going to take someone to Wizengamot except he’s too poor for that.

As a result, the first day of Potions he trips and falls flat on his face when he sees the beautiful man he loves sitting regally at his desk as though nothing is amiss. The once gaunt, sunken areas of his face have filled out, and the redness that was in his eyes has cleared. His hair, long and wavy, is pulled back in a ribbon. Ron’s attention is far from the placement of his own steps. It hits Ron how the months have passed without him getting a good look at Lucius.

Merlin, he’s an adult and not a proper student besides, but now he has to add  _ hot for teacher _ to his list of sins.

Draco chimes even though it’s still summer, technically, “Having a nice fall, halfwit?”

“Stuff a dirty old sock in it, you prat.”

“Rather do that than kiss the floorboards, tosser.”

“Draco,” comes the reprimand from Lucius. “Please restrain yourself from quarreling until after the lesson.”

“It’s fine, Lu - Professor Malfoy. We’re just… we’re just like that.” 

He scrambles to right himself and plops down in a seat between Neville and Hannah Abbott - who is, awkwardly, the girl he half-muttered some excuse when she asked him out. Damn it. In front of him, Draco turns to sneer at Ron over his shoulder. Ron playfully sticks his tongue out at him. Later, he uses his wand to launch a folded, animated drawing of Hermione battling a masked Death Eater to Draco’s desk while a caricature of Draco proposes to her, which causes him to flush. Draco hastily stashes it when Lucius walks by while lecturing and raises an eyebrow at the parchment.

A few classes later, Ron had gotten homework returned with a painfully low mark. “Stay after lessons, Mister Weasley.”

He almost expects jeering, before remembering they’re  _ adults _ who have been in a horrific war. When everyone but him is packing to leave, Neville pats him on the shoulder, and Draco shoots him a sympathetic look showing that he really does care beneath his ferrety personality.

Ron should have no reason to be nervous, but he is. 

“Am I being punished, sir?”

Lucius tucks his hands behind his back. “No. I merely wanted to discuss… your work. I know you aren’t an imbecile, Ron.”

Ron’s stomach seems to do acrobatic feats as the sound of his given name. “I…”

“Do you know why you are struggling? It would help if you could enlighten me.”

Ron explains how the ingredients aren’t intuitive to him, how he gets lost in the directions. He explains that when he tries to write essays, his mind will go blank, and he’ll start to fall asleep staring at the pages or get distracted by something else.

“I see.” Lucius continues, “I am no expert, but it sounds as though you may be attention deficit.”

“Who what now?”

Lucius sighs and leans with his arm on the desk. Ron makes a concentrated effort to not derail the conversation by kissing him. “Tonks had a relative who was something the muggles call a psychologist. She diagnosed your uncles with the same, though Fabian was also ah… obsessive compulsive and depressed.”

“Simply put,” Lucius adjoins, “you aren’t  _ lazy _ or  _ dense,  _ you have difficulties focusing, getting motivated, and remaining on task. As I understand it.”

Ron doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but his mind is thrown back to earlier in the summer. Hermione had dropped books in the arms of Ron and Harry about something called  _ Post Traumatic Stress Disorder _ and how to cope with symptoms of war-related shock.

Ron will never admit to her that he read them cover to cover, but it was helpful in making him not jump at every flash of green or pace around the house when he has no one to duel. It’s still a work in progress. If Hermione knows about  _ that, _ she might have further advice.

Ron simply nods, going along with him for now. “I’ll look into it. Is there… anything I can do now?”

“I will give you the chance to rewrite this essay.” 

Lucius proceeds to give him advice on the topic by comparing it to a chess manoeuvre. That immensely clarifies a few issues. He gives Ron space by turning away and half-leaning his hip on his own desk. It gives Ron a obscene view of his ass, and he gives it several furtive glances while he writes.

Ron manages to sneak in quite a good wank that night, wondering if he’ll ever get more than being alone with his own hand. He has no room to complain, knowing that Lucius managed for roughly thirty years. He asks Hermione about what Lucius said first thing in the morning, and she immediately gets that  _ look. _

The one that precedes him getting dragged through a muggle library while Hermione chatters ahead of him. It means he reads…  _ a lot _ … as Hermione hovers, lectures him, and encourages questions from him. However, the day ends with a better understanding of himself and a clarity upon thinking back to his adolescence that he didn’t have before.

  
  


***

  
  


The next time he stays after class, he bemoans how he’s useless as a Wizard. Lucius, without ceremony, challenges him to a duel. He throws the desks aside with a single motion of his wand, clearing space. Then, he bows and shoots a spell that Ron quickly counters.

“Go on the offensive,” Lucius demands after a few minutes. Ron is sweaty, exhausted, excited and  _ alive.  _ Lucius’ eyes are aflame with interest and what Ron hopes is desire that he sees in the dilation of his pupils. The words initially pass through him like a ghost.

“What?”

“Potter and Granger aren’t here. Your casting is decisive and your wandwork is wild and loose but effective. However, you are wasting your potential by merely keeping me busy as though someone else will jump in to save your arse.”

Ron follows his direction, heart pumping. He realises he was right - in the war he’d often act as a support to the people he was fighting beside. Seeing this side of Lucius also makes the heat pool low in his abdomen, but thankfully his mind is too occupied for his blood to travel too far south.

  
  


***

  
  


Ron also seeks Lucius’ guidance with Charms and Transfiguration. Ron notes that at least he doesn't need help with Arithmancy. Numbers seem to come relatively easy to him. Studying it closer has also provided an outlet for his  _ extra  _ sense. He’s not any kind of powerful seer, but that piece of his bloodline is still  _ there,  _ as present and casual as the freckles on his skin.

Lucius notes, “I was rubbish with Arithmancy. My father forced me to take it over Ancient Runes - there was still a bit of gender segregation back then, where Arithmancy was a masculine subject, while Runes was a feminine one.”

“I almost took Muggle Studies to spite him,” Lucius confesses, in a faux hushed tone that makes Ron laugh.

“How’d you get through it?”

“I was too proud to seek tutoring, especially if it got back to my father. However, Edward Tonks noticed my struggle, and offered an exchange - I would tutor him in Potions if he helped me in an Arithmancy. A wise way to assuage my ego.”

Lucius appends, “I snapped at him at first… but later I snuck out of my dorm… Gideon could get us in anywhere. He would even sneak into the Slytherin common to throw me surprise parties.”

Ron chuckles a little at that last bit. He makes a mental note to find out Lucius’ birthday from Draco, because  _ how dare he not know it.  _ Lucius always dodged the question when Ron probed about it in letters - sore spot, he figures. 

“Was that the only subject you struggled with?”

“Indeed. I excelled in Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Defence, History, Magical Creatures, Herbology, and Astronomy. I didn’t care for flying, but I wasn't bad at it.” Lucius adds, “Not to boast, but I was at the top of my year and earned the most points among my fellow Slytherins in the house cup.”

_ Hence his arrogance and feeling humiliated for being rubbish at Arithmancy,  _ Ron thinks. He doesn’t think his confidence is completely misplaced, though. Ron would probably be full of himself too if his father was a twat, and he had all of two close friends who didn’t sound like the greatest of influences. Ron also flushes, considering how his own abilities pale in comparison.  _ Stop it.  _

When Ron rolls his eyes, it’s fond. “Of course. At least you weren’t perfect at one subject, though. Was my uncle -”

“Don’t compare yourself to him. And no, he was far from perfect. He had to be kept on task by someone else when he studied or wrote. His overall grades were rather poor,” Lucius says, “but not being an academic didn’t make him a bad wizard. He was talented yet humble, and he could fly by on the seat of his pants. But… he was also hard-working in the subjects he cared about - Defence and Charms.”

Ron raises his chin a little at that.  _ Lucius obviously doesn’t care about people based on their overall academic performance.  _ Ron should probably cut himself some slack.

“What was  _ your _ favorite subject?”

“Hmm… Herbology.”

“Really? I’m not surprised but…”

“It’s not popular as a passion, I’m aware. Potion-brewing is underappreciated as well. A lot of wizards and witches highly value wand-waving, part of the reason that Umbridge was readily despised I imagine, aside from her strictness and attitude,” Lucius speculates. Ron chuckles.

“Yeah, the restrictions made even Hermione mental after a few weeks.” Ron questions, “Did you pursue Ancient Runes after Hogwarts, then? Something Draco said once suggests you know a thing or two… Also I noticed Regulus wrote some runes in the letters I found, where your name also came up.”

Lucius seems to hesitate. Ron writes a bit for his Charms work while he waits for a response. A few minutes pass before Lucius intones, “Voldemort taught me. I passed this knowledge to Regulus because he opted to take Arithmancy and Muggle Studies, of all things.”

“Oh. Sorry, that’s probably hard to talk about.”

“If there’s anyone who makes it easier… it’s you.”

“Aw.” Ron rests his jaw on his knuckles and lays it on thick as he says, “You’re so sweet, Lucius.”

Lucius’ eye has a spasm. “Finish your work, if you have any further questions, I will be at my desk.”

_ Or I could bend you over the desk,  _ Ron doesn’t mention aloud. Respecting Lucius’ wish to wait two years is probably the most challenging task of his young life. If only they could at least shag to release some of the tension.

  
  


***

  
  


Once Ron mentions that he’s pulled up all of his grades one evening, Lucius takes out a chessboard, and they play.

“Mum and dad are proud of me. That’ll probably change, if I ever work up the nerve to tell them I’m not becoming an Auror,” Ron says.

Lucius stutters his next command to a chess piece. “You’re not?”

Ron shrugs one shoulder. “Well, I was mostly going into it because Harry and I kind of made a pact, then he rescinded. I asked Hermione to read up on it. I think it would be boring without Harry around. It was… never something I  _ really _ wanted, just the only thing I thought I could do.”

He gives his knight a command, and it slides across the board to take out Lucius’ bishop. Lucius taps his forefinger on the desk, then has his rook move.

“I highly doubt it,” Lucius says. He hums in thought when it’s Ron’s turn again. “Have you ever considered some form of politics or law? It’s a lot of reading and lecturing to get certified, but after that it’s mostly talking and signing. As you’re a tactician who thrives in disorder, it’s a thought.”

“Disorder? Wouldn’t the higher echelons of the Ministry  _ be _ the embodiment of order?”

“On the surface perhaps, but why do you think there was a faction named the  _ Order _ of the Phoenix operating separately? The Ministry is well-disguised clutter.”

“Looking back to when we infiltrated the Ministry -” Ron smiles at Lucius’ raised eyebrow that conveys that he’s impressed but also shocked. “I realise you aren’t far off. I guess I could think about it.”

“I hope you do.”

After Lucius places him in checkmate, Ron tumbles out, “I know we aren’t  _ officially  _ a couple, but would it bother you if I shagged someone else casually?”

Lucius’ wand in hand stills as he was in the process of resetting the board. “Excuse me? I was quite certain it was implied you could sleep with other people.”

Ron stares. “I mean. I’m not sure I want to. Also, I want you more.”

Lucius resets the board and closes his eyes for a moment. “If you feel the need to have a meaningless shag, it is not my concern. If you fall in love with someone else, it would be unfortunate, but I am the one who chose to leave you with those possibilities.”

“I won’t fall in love with someone else,” Ron states with conviction. “It’s not like you’re dead or in prison. I won’t stop loving you just because we aren’t dating yet, you said two years. So, I’m being mature and respecting your space.”

Lucius slowly reaches across the desk to squeeze his hand. He is quick to retract the appendage instead of lingering, but it still makes Ron’s skin tingle and flush. “The right decision is rarely the easiest.”

  
  


***

  
  


“I want to embrace a dark side I don’t have sometime,” Ron grumbles non-sequitur to Draco one evening. They’re in the Apprentice dorm doing coursework.

“I’ll sit here and pretend I know what the fuck you’re on about,” Draco rasps in return. It looks like he’s in a battle with his own eyelids. He keeps touching his pocket for some reason. Ron is waiting for him to get tired enough to loosen his inhibitions before he asks what he’s hiding.

Ron gushes, “There’s someone I’m in love with, but he wants to wait until I’m a little older in case I change my mind, or something, which I won’t, or maybe he’s just afraid of caging me. Which is ridiculous. I don’t know if I should shag someone else so I don’t want to jump his bones every hour of every day, he said I could, but who would I even screw?”

Draco seems wide awake all of a sudden - the polar opposite of his plan. “First of all - disgusting. Second of all - you’re gay? Did I know you were gay? I honestly can’t remember.” 

“I’m pretty sure I strongly implied it more than once. Everyone except my parents and eldest siblings likely have figured it out by now,” Ron says.

Draco narrows his eyes. “I feel like we joked about it a couple of times? I didn’t think it was serious, though.”

Ron sets his quill down. He can’t focus on writing anymore. “So not the point. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, _ I’m _ not going to shag you.” Draco dryly adds, “I think one Malfoy to make eyes at is enough for you.”

Ron makes a choked off noise. “I wasn’t -! Merlin, you’re taking the piss out of me. You’re terrible. Worse than my brothers.”

Draco smirks. “I think Nott fancies blokes?”

“Already hit that. Don’t really care to repeat.”

He’s impressed that Draco doesn’t react. “Well, I think you should stop being a prat and tell your mystery man you want to be with him  _ now.  _ If you don’t really want to shag some nobody, then don’t.”

Ron drops his head on the table, because Draco is right. However, it’s near the end of September. Lucius wouldn’t be impressed if he only managed to last for a month of the school terms.

Changing this fruitless subject, Ron says, “What’s in your pocket?”

Draco, as though he was actually  _ waiting _ to be questioned, yanks out a small box and pops it open. “What do you think?”

“Draco, I’m flattered! But the answer is no.”

Draco flicks him on the forehead. “Do you think Hermione will like it?”

“She loves you, I think that’s all that matters.”

Draco hugs him until Ron mutters that he might puke at this uncharacteristic display. 

“You’re being my best man. No arguments. Only because you clean up better than Harry, and if he was the one to give a speech, we’d all probably weep.”

“Erm. Okay?”

“Convince my father to get you in with a tailor, he knows about that shite. Since you’re chums and everything.”

  
  


***

Ron sends Harry a Patronus, and he meets Ron at the Three Broomsticks the following morning. “Harry.”

“Ron?”

“Draco is planning to propose to Hermione.”

“That’s great!”

“For some reason, he doesn’t want you to be the best man? So he demanded I should do it.”

“Yeah, that’s probably for the best.”

Ron gives him a blank stare until he elaborates, “Draco once had Severus promise he’d attend his wedding if he has one as a bridesmaid in a frock and everything, if Lucius didn’t retract his approval by the end of the summer. They were sloshed. Severus said - only if I agreed to be the best man.”

Ron chokes on his sandwich.

“Not that he’d mind, Severus -” Harry says, “I think Draco just wants to be spared having that image seared into his brain.”

“I think we all do except you.”

Harry frowns. “See, I was thinking of attending in a lovely gown, myself. Severus is more of a formal robes bloke. But it would seem like spite wouldn’t it? Should I?”

“A hundred times yes.” 

  
  


***

  
  


When Ron passes this all on to Lucius - with the vow that he’ll act like he doesn’t know about the proposal when the time comes - he covers his face with his hands. His shoulders are clearly shaking with laughter, though. Ron slouches forward, one arm bent on the top of Lucius’ desk. Lucius looks up at him, his mouth parting. For a moment, it seems like he might lean in. 

Draco barges in on them. He glances between them, tuts, then rolls his eyes. Flatly, he states, “I intend to ask Hermione to marry me.”

Lucius makes a show of gasping in mock outrage and leaping to his feet. Ron has to stifle his amusement by biting the back of his hand. Draco takes a pointed step backward.

“How dare you leave me the last in line before the bride-to-be?”

Draco is stunned. “What?” 

“Ron was informed before me… therefore, your friend Harry as well,” Lucius complains. 

Ron shoots Lucius a look of total betrayal. “Lucius!”

Lucius smirks. “It wasn’t an unbreakable vow now, was it?”

“Once a snake, always a snake,” Ron jokes. 

Draco glances between them again with a pained expression and says, “I’m not even going to ask. Merlin, Weasley, you already told Harry  _ and _ my father? Can you not keep a secret for two seconds? You might as well propose to Hermione on my behalf.”

He storms out of the classroom.

“He is so melodramatic,” Lucius laments, lowering himself back into his chair and imperiously pouring a glass of wine that he takes a long, graceful sip from. Ron’s eyes don’t leave his form.

“Wonder where he gets it…”

“Not a clue,” Lucius claims, but the uptick of his mouth that nearly dimples his cheek suggests otherwise.

  
  


***

In spite of everything that came before, it’s been the longest fucking school year ever to Ron. He ends up not shagging anyone. There are still a few firsts he has that he only wants to share with Lucius. Occasionally, Lucius is knackered enough to drift off sitting at his desk, and Ron sneaks notes into his robes because he kind of misses writing letters... Even though he sees the man damn near every day, which is more than he could’ve dreamed of, once. 

On March first, a Hogwarts owl brings him a present. Inside the wrapping, he finds a tea cozy embroidered with a Peacock and decorated with flowers. When he’s particularly yearning for Lucius company, he takes it to bed. 

Draco notices and asks, “What is that?”

“What does it look like?”

“Really, Weasley. I mean, where did you get it?”

Ron grins. “It was a birthday present from Lucius.”

Draco stares at him. “You’re… cuddling it. You know it’s for -”

“Yes, I know. Blimey, just shut up alright?”

Draco drops onto his own bed and covers his head with the pillow. Ron inquires, “By the way, when is his birthday?”

“How do you  _ not _ know? Salazar’s one-eyed snake… it’s April 22nd, Weasley.” 

When the date arrives, he plies Lucius with homemade sweets. They eat out by the lake, while Lucius marks papers, and Ron puts the finishing touches on an essay that Lucius won’t let him procrastinate.

***

Come July, Ron has graduated with higher marks than he would’ve expected years ago. In the Great Hall on the last day, Lucius passes the table, and they share a smile. Ron later makes it a point to invite him to Draco and Hermione’s upcoming engagement party. He’s likely to decline if it’s from Draco. 

“Is the rest of the Weasley herd going to be there?”

“Well… Draco is Hermione’s future husband, they’re both close friends of Harry, and Harry is an honorary member of my family, and I’m going to be the best man so…”

“Absolutely not.”

Ron whines, “I want you there, please? If you’re not there I might do something stupid.”

“Fine.”

The day of the party is heavy with anticipation. Ron chugged Dreamless Sleep potion last night, in case his pointedly concealed future sight decides to make a reappearance. Unless it’s life threatening, he’d rather be spared any spoilers. However, his intuition alarms are going off - something  _ will _ go wrong.

It takes every ounce of self control he has to stop from wrapping himself around Lucius and burrowing into his robes. They arrive early together - Ron also showed Lucius his ability to play the piano yesterday. How they slept in the same bed and didn’t shag is a mystery. Ron figures for Lucius, it must be his years of practice repressing his sexuality. Draco slaps a hand on his forehead when he sees them arrive in a pair, but he walks past them without comment.

Ron assists them in finishing the set up. Lucius hangs back in the shadows, even as the other guests arrive. Ron mills around, making small talk and cracking jokes. Occasionally, he sneaks a glance at Lucius just to check on him. Eventually, Lucius has little choice. 

Once all the guests are gathered, Draco has an announcement. “I know some of you were taken by surprise, as Hermione and I have been somewhat secretive with our relationship to avoid the eyes of the Ministry and reporters for a while. I know this is well… unprecedented - a Slytherin and a Gryffindor…”

_ That’s what you think,  _ Ron considers, thinking of Regulus and Gideon, himself and Lucius. Beyond that, Lucius’ maternal ancestor, Peregrine Eklund, had been a Slytherin married to a Gryffindor, Gwendolyn LaRaine, information which he shared in a post-war letter. It runs in their families, it seems.

“A former Death Eater and a muggleborn? Heh.” Well, Draco is on to something, there. “We’re putting our past behind us and moving toward a brighter future together. I hope it will inspire others to do the same and bring our world closer together than ever.”

Ron hopes that too, for his potential relationship to have a chance to see the light of day, to be more than stolen moments in the shadows.

“We plan to be married in about a month, by the beginning of August. Your support means so much to us. Ah, since we’re scratching it from the ceremony, if anyone has come here to make objections, I am giving you the invitation to get it out of the bloody way now.”

He gives a pointed look at his father. A few other guests turn to him, but he doesn’t seem troubled by the attention. He steps forward. Ron’s heart is in his throat. Lucius briefly embraces his son, then he takes Hermione’s hand and slightly bows his head. Letting go he says, “My happiness for you having found each other in spite of everything is unbound.”

  
  


***

  
  


Everyone is seated at the table as the meal commences. Winky, who now lives and works at the Boarding House where the party is being held, strums a small harp for atmosphere.

At one point, she refills the wine for some guests. Hermione watches Lucius like a hawk, but he’s courteous. He even offers a galleon, which she politely takes, and a short pat on the head. Winky gives Hermione a nervous glance when she moves over to that side. It was under the table - so no one except those closest to Lucius at the table noticed. He’s not doing it for show. Ron brushes his fingers against Lucius’ knee, and Lucius answers with the slightest tilt of his chin. 

Hermione seems to catch this, and her eyebrows do a thing at Ron that he ignores.

Ron observes.

Luna and Neville are sitting together, across from Blaise and Ginny. Theodore is next to Blaise, across from Luna’s father next to her. Next to Neville are Ron’s parents, then Fleur who opted to sit across from Ron’s brother, Bill. Next to her is Andromeda with Teddy in her lap, then Sirius. Ron is between Sirius and Lucius, with Lucius being at Draco’s left side, as he’s head of the table. On his right is Hermione, and Harry is next to her, then Severus. Ron’s long line of siblings are all seated on that side, except for him. 

So far, it’s been civil. Several people have conversations who he wasn’t aware normally talked to each other - such as Blaise and Neville, Theodore and Ginny, and Severus asks Charlie something related to dragons and potions that goes over Ron’s head. Ron is soon too busy stuffing his face with delicious food to join in with much conversation, he’s content to listen. 

Andromeda occasionally talks to Lucius past Sirius’ and Ron’s heads. She pushes her cousin’s head down slightly to accomplish this, to Sirius’ mildly irked amusement, and Ron lowers his own to allow the recently reconciled friends to communicate. Ron has to hurriedly put down his food when Andromeda passes the toddler from Sirius to him, and then Ron passes Teddy to Lucius. 

He appears awkward and astonished at first, but he wiggles his fingers in front of Teddy’s nose, then wrinkles his own. Teddy lets out a little giggle and hiccup, which seems to make Lucius more comfortable with the situation. He returns him to his grandmother after several minutes when Teddy decides to tug on Lucius’ hair. Ron has to bury his chortles in his arm before he can take another bite, lest he choke on his food. 

Ron whispers, easily disguised by the din of chatter around him, “You were the one to spoil Draco as a little baby weren’t you? I bet you cooed at him, and everything.”

“Admittedly, I doted on him. Narcissa had to hassle me just to put him down for a while and do something else. She took over when I rather… frightened him off.”

Ron chews his lip. “He remembers that night. He was scared, but not of you, for you. He didn’t understand why you were upset. He didn’t realize what you thought you were going to do until he was older.”

“He… told you about that?”

“After I shared with him about what you said in the last letter before… Azkaban.”

“Ah.” Lucius puts his glass to his lips as he murmurs almost conspiratorially, “I hope Draco and Hermione still intend to have children. I can’t wait to have another baby in the family.”

Ron grins and nods. Their children will want for nothing with Lucius around, and he’ll likely spoil them even in times their parents are trying to be stern. Ron has no idea if it would be appropriate to consider them his family too in a way - if Lucius will still have him.

At one point, someone slips in mentioning a Battle of Hogwarts related topic, and the table has a moment of silence before Charlie jovially changes the subject to babies (while grinning at little Teddy). Ron has to do a double take when Lucius talks directly to Charlie about his experiences with a child’s milestones after Charlie wonders aloud when Teddy can be taken on his first broomstick ride. Charlie responds to him without incident. Apparently, Ron is not the only Weasley who can put aside old surname-based grudges.

Severus follows suit to question Sirius about student marks, who reprimands him for talking about school at the party “like a geek”. He has to explain to most of the table at large what the term means.

“Severus isn’t a geek,” Harry argues.

“You don’t think he’s intelligent but socially awkward?”

Harry ponders. “I think he’s more of a nerd.”

Hermione chimes in, “Isn’t that the same thing?”

“I think a nerd is kind of like… brooding and focused on one field. A geek is someone who is up to date in various subjects and flaunts it, which puts people off. Severus is withdrawn, and he’s mainly confident in his Potions but insecure about everything else. More of a nerd.”

“If anyone is the geek, it’s Lucius,” Severus states. “Thanks for letting everyone know how insecure I am and calling me a nerd, Harry.”

Harry blushes. “Sorry, I was making a point. I’ll make it up to you.”

Harry’s arm moves in a way that suggests he’s gripping Severus’ hand apologetically under the table. Ron emphatically wishes he could hold Lucius’ hand.

“That’s confusing,” Ron says, trying not to think about how close Lucius’ warmth is, and how much he can’t have it. 

“I’m not entirely sure it’s correct,” Lucius remarks, “but I don’t know enough about muggles to refute, and at this point I’m afraid to ask.”

Ron is excited that he’s starting to talk more and more. From what Ron can understand he  _ is _ social, but he has expectations of social situations from his aristocratic upbringing. He isn’t as sure-footed in a situation with a mix of people of ages and backgrounds. He seems to have figured out a balance of being careful in his words while also slinking out on a limb because as long as he doesn’t talk down on anyone in self-defense, they aren’t going to lash out at him. 

“But I agree that Lucius is a geek,” Ron adjoins. Ron grins in the face of Lucius’ appalled glance. “At least he has manners and intellect, unlike his git of a son.”

“Wanker,” Draco gripes. Ron makes the V-sign at him which is probably inappropriate at the table, but it makes Lucius smirk with restrained mirth.

“We’re frenemies - friends who pick on each other constantly because they’re too emotionally constipated to show proper platonic affection,” Ron says to some of the bemused looks they get. 

Draco glances at him sidelong, but there’s a hint of amusement in his expression.

Hermione examines that everyone has finished dinner and says, “The kitchens, Draco?”

Draco and Hermione leave the table for a moment. Percy mutters, “It’s probably a good thing Draco doesn’t take after his father.”

It was obviously not meant to be heard. Unfortunately for Percy, the table had fallen quiet in anticipation of dessert or contemplation of the next topic. 

Ron immediately jumps to the defensive, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Ronald,” Molly says, softly. However, she’s giving Percy a dark look. He ignores whatever she’s trying to convey to him. Of course she’d try to verbally halt Ron but not Percy. She doesn’t want them to argue, but Percy can spew nonsense if he wants as long as no one starts an argument over it.

“I’m just saying. It’s kind of a surprise he’s marrying Hermione.”

It’s Severus who questions incredulously, “Because she’s muggleborn?”

Percy scoffs, “That, but more that she’s a woman. You’d think the son of a poof is bound to be one too right? Good for him though, that he dodged that bludger.”

If a pin dropped anywhere in the extensive boarding house, it probably would’ve been heard in that moment. Lucius is speechless beside him, hands folded in his lap. The piercing glare he’s giving his wine seems like it should’ve shattered the glass.

Molly utters, “Percy what kind of language -”

“You should watch your words son, even if they’re true,” Arthur remarks. Molly slaps his arm.

“Not the point, Arthur!”

Ron flicks his gaze down the table. He notes with a small amount of glee, that except his parents, every person at the table who can lean far enough past the person beside them has leveled a dirty look at Percy. Those that can’t just appear to seethe at the table cloth or dish in front of them.

“What are you all looking at?” Percy questions, “Surely, those of you who aren’t Slytherin wouldn’t have cared whether or not he was left to rot in Azkaban.”

“Piss off,” Ron almost snarls to disguise the way his voice wants to shake. Reality is hitting, reminding him that he’s in love with a man many people would’ve seen imprisoned or worse, or simply weren’t concerned about what happened to him. Nevermind that he helped the Ministry capture a considerable number of stray Death Eaters post-war as well as clean up other damages. 

“What, great friends are you? It’s incredible Draco turned out well as he has in the end.” Percy just won’t stop running his mouth even though George and Ginny have taken turns elbowing him. “I heard his grandfather was a drunk. His father probably is too, judging by the way he already downed three glasses of wine like water. Probably beat the shite out of him growing up because he had to marry a woman and couldn’t get laid.”

Ron is about three seconds from launching himself across the table and strangling Percy in front of everyone. Most of the table looks either petrified or embarrassed. They were likely angry before because of Percy’s homophobic slander of Draco, but they don’t know how to counter Percy’s direct attack on Lucius’ very character. He risks a glance at Lucius, who appears devastated. He had wrapped his hand around his glass at some point, but the last line may have caused him to pause. His hand is shaking.

Severus is Ron’s saving grace. “Utterly preposterous. I was around when Draco was growing up, even looked after him a few times when his parents had business at the Ministry. He would never have used violence on his son, he didn’t even raise his voice.”

Though he can’t make direct eye contact with Percy through three entire adult men, his uncompromising tone does the job for him.

  
  


Almost overlapping him, Andromeda airily states, “Lucius is a gentle soul, underneath the grandeur. If he is attracted to men though, it has no relevance to his character.”

Ignoring Andromeda completely, Percy counters at Severus, “Like you were there every second?”

“It is easy to tell an abuse victim from one who is not.” Severus’ expression grows darker. “If you know what you’re looking for. As someone who was abused by my father, I would see the signs.”

Harry wraps a hand around Severus’ elbow. Ron thinks he glimpses the edge of a wand in Snape’s grasp. Percy is taken aback for a moment, and Ron dares to hope he might finally shut the bloody hell up.

“Regardless, Lucius Malfoy is a widely suspected homosexual and a known Death Eater. His son was a Death Eater - defected but still. I was just surprised he wasn’t influenced to be bent as well.”

_ Suspected - like it’s unlawful?  _ Is he for real? Ron’s ears are ringing.

“All of the Malfoys defected,” Harry pipes in, possibly trying to defuse the row by focusing on a different part of the ugly statement. He doesn’t succeed.

“Only after Draco did. Honourable, to choose their son over their cause, but it doesn’t change Senior Malfoy’s years of service, and return to service when their Lord resurrected.”

Lucius stands. Several pairs of eyes move to him. He doesn’t say a word and downs the last of his current wine glass, his hand shaking all the while. He leaves with barely audible footsteps, and somehow moves gracefully from the table without loudly scooting his chair back. He disappears into the nearest sitting room. Winky, who has long stopped playing music, watches him leave with her ears down like a frightened puppy. It’s both the worst and best time to redirect, to steal the attention.

“You know what, fuck you. If Draco was marrying a man, I know at least four people here, aside from myself and Lucius, who would still happily attend his engagement and wedding, still. Of course for me that’s a given, since  _ I’m _ gay.”

There.

The whole prejudice against Lucius’ guilt-ridden time as a servant of Voldemort is a whole other pile of owl pellets. Ron decides addressing the more personal offence takes precedence, since Harry’s attempt to deflect failed.

Percy jerks backward in his seat as though he’s been slapped. Disantly, Ron realizes that he’s stood up at some point. It gives him a good view of the shocked look on his parents’ faces. Bill’s and George’s eyebrows are raised. Charlie swirls the wine in his glass, not at all surprised. Anyone else not in the know appears unperturbed by the revelation.

Percy barks, “What the f-”

Charlie interjects, “I’m gay too. When I’m not here, I stay with my boyfriend in Romania.”

“I get deeper attachments with men than women,” Harry says. Severus hums, as though this speaks to him as well.

From the end of the table, Theodore throws in, “I like to date women and shag men!”

“I’m bisexual- that means I can be attracted to either or another,” Luna says. 

“Same here,” Blaise says.

“I as well, though we must have a deeply personal connection first,” Xenophilius murmurs even, despite being one of the least talkative throughout the meal. “I dated a boy when I was at Hogwarts, before I met my future wife.”

“Don’t do the dating thing,” Sirius adds crudely to a chorus of giggles, “but I’ll sleep with about anyone, no matter their gender.”

Percy snaps his head around several times, as though he can’t decide where to aim his most horrified expression. 

“I for one love and support you all,” Ginny says. Across from her, Neville sagely nods. To emphasize, Neville wraps his arm around Luna. Ginny leans over and gives Blaise a kiss on the cheek. 

Ron might cry. His eyes ache with it. He wishes Lucius were here to listen to all of this, it would probably do wonders for his self esteem. 

“Toast to the queer and proud and to the straights who love our daft arses,” Ron proclaims, raising his glass. Including George, Fleur, and Bill as well, the majority of the table chimes, “Cheers!”

They drink.

Charlie questions, “So, do you have a boyfriend, Ron? If not, I know of some younger blokes if you’re looking around.”

Oh, right, fuck. He squeaks, “Sort of!”

Now, he has to check that Percy hasn’t broken the love of his life. He makes a quick getaway, not caring for whatever happens next. He has a brief thought to wonder where the hell Draco and Hermione went, but that’s for later.

He finds Lucius in the dark of the sitting room. He’s slumped against the wall, motionless. As Ron draws closer a smell like iron hits his nose. He casts a ball of light and raggedly gasps. He throws himself to his knees. The sleeve of Lucius’ left arm is pulled up, and there are several red lines dripping blood. His arm is limp on the floor, resting in a minor puddle of red liquid. The emotions that have been building spill forward in a mixed mess, as tears squeeze out of his eyes.

“Lucius, Lucius. Answer me, my love.”

Lucius groans softly, through his nose. He grasps Ron’s shoulder with his right hand, but he doesn’t respond. Ron glances around. There is a shattered wine bottle halfway across the room.  _ He’s sloshed.  _ There is blood under the nails of his right hand, but there are also large glass shards laying by his arm. Ron’s chest heaves as his breathing speeds.

“Fuck. Fuck. Expecto Patronum! Fuck - Snape, Harry I need you. Get blood replenishing potions, a sobering potion, a pain numbing potion, and be ready to knit delicate wounds. Try not to alert the party guests, I’ll be in the Med Wing.”

Once the Patronus sets off, Ron calls urgently but not loud enough to carry, “Winky? Winky?”

The House Elf appears just as he bites out the second utterance. “To the Med Wing.”

  
  
  


***

  
  


Ron quickly digs out bandages that exist for emergencies and shortages. He spells away the visible blood and wraps them as tight as he can around the length of Lucius’ arm. It was cut from the heel of his hand all the way up to the crook of his elbow. 

“Lucius,” Ron sobs and rambles because what else can he do? “I’m so sorry. I should’ve fucking let you stay home. Please forgive me, I didn’t know anyone in my family was  _ that  _ bad. My dad at least, knew not to say anything in front of me I think.”

He’s sitting on the bed, with Lucius’ head lolling on his shoulder. He pushes his hair aside, not even able to appreciate his curled locks on his skin right now, and kisses his temple. It feels like an eternity before Severus and Harry arrive. He expects to be pushed aside, but Severus simply gives him a knowing look and works around him.

Gently, Harry questions, “What happened?”

“He must’ve been so angry and upset. He - he has violent urges when he’s angry, but the - the considerate arsehole would sooner chop off his own arm than hurt anyone ever again,” Ron explains in a rush. Harry frowns.

Snape uses a jolting charm to rouse Lucius. Ron grabs the first potion from his hand, ignoring Snape’s protest. He takes a sip, then pressed it to Lucius’ lips. He gulps it down. 

Ron says, “You can trust your friend Sn- Severus can’t you? The potions master?”

Lucius is a little hesitant, but he takes the next potions straight from Snape. He and Harry look at him questioningly. As though it really explains anything at all, Ron tells them, “He was tormented and experimented on in Azkaban.”

They don’t push him to elaborate. His wounds taken care of, Lucius passes out in Ron’s arms. Ron lowers him to the bed.

“You love him.”

It isn’t a question.

“More or less since I was fourteen, though it’s evolved over the years from odd infatuation, to confused lust, to being in love.”

“Hm.” Ron can read in that single sound that Snape is processing their past conversations, and now making sense of everything. “Who else knows?”

“Harry was the first, because he accidentally snooped some--- unsent love letters. I’m pretty sure Hermione is on to me, she’s much too clever. Draco probably  _ knows,  _ but he pretends he doesn’t and makes jests or rolls his eyes at us instead,” Ron informs him.

“Ah, yes, blissful are the ignorant.”

Ron snorts. “I’m worried he’ll drop dead. Lucius and I have this phrase between us - seeing is different than knowing.”

“Wise and true,” Snape remarks. 

  
  


***

  
  


Ron wakes to fingers in his hair. “Lucius.”

“Ron. I apologise for upsetting you.”

Ron takes his head and kisses his palm, agreement be damned. “What… happened? Aside from the obvious. If you feel up to talking about it.”

He scoots his chair closer. 

Lucius says, “I was infuriated of course, humiliated, ashamed, more feelings than I can put into words. I drank. I… raked my nails across my arm like the pain would stop me from taking my wand out and casting hexes, curses left and right. When the - the emotions didn’t abate, I broke the bottle and used the glass.”

“Lucius,” Ron whimpers. He pitches forward and buries his face in Lucius’ robes. “Next time, ask me or somebody for help.”

“Ron -”

“You wouldn’t hurt me. Even in anger. Maybe by accident if I startled you but not-” Ron pauses and continues, “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Honestly, Ron.” Lucius sighs. “Falling for you feels like flying. Why must you be so stubborn and impossible?”

Ron lifts his head. He brushes Lucius’ hair back. He darts forward to kiss Lucius. His tongue slips into Ron’s mouth. They have a good snog before they are interrupted by Snape demanding that Lucius take more potions - 

“Snogging is  _ not _ a potion,” Snape deadpans when Lucius keeps kissing Ron while trying to wave Snape away. Ron has to break the kiss to giggle, and he gets to see Lucius pout as Snape mother-hens him.

Ron has to take a pepper-up potion because his emotions last night gave him a merciless headache. He realises that he missed the rest of the party when he traipses downstairs. It hardly matters. 

He practically runs straight into Draco. He questions, “How was the rest of the engagement party? Why were you and Hermione gone so long?”

Draco  _ blushes. _ Ron didn’t think it was possible. “Hermione and I… we… got distracted… had a bit of a snog in the kitchens.”

“Ah, young love!”

“Shut up, you berk.”

“You missed a lot of drama.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware. Several of the guests were nearly falling over themselves to tell me the gossip. I have more friends and acquaintances… of various orientations… than I realised, it seems. One burning question.”

“... Yeah?”

“Do you er, actually know if my father is… I know you two are so close it sometimes looks like you’re a married couple. Do you know if he  _ is _ gay, really?”

Ron takes a steadying breath through his nose, torn between laughing or croaking. Draco doesn’t know how close he is to the truth. “I… I’m not sure that’s for me to tell?”

Draco narrows his eyes. He crosses his arms in a pointed, dramatic slow motion and enunciates,  _ “Weasley.” _

**  
** “Fuck. Fine.” Ron rolls his eyes a tad. “Yes, okay?”

Draco huffs. “It makes so much  _ sense.  _ I just… didn’t know if he would be sensitive about it if I asked, or whatever. It’s kind of - I didn’t know how to ask.”

“You just asked me -”

“That’s different.”

He supposes it is. In the spirit of disclosure, Ron declares, “Erm… I’m in love with him.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Sorry.”

A thick pause.

“Don’t fucking apologise, git.  _ Urgh. _ Does he feel the same way?”

“I think so… but he wanted to wait.”

“Wanted. To. Wait,” Draco parrots deadpan, thumbs in his pockets. “Hold on. He’s the fucker you were pining over? Oh lord. Oh Merlin. Fucking spare me. This whole blithering time, Weasley,  _ fuck.  _ Who else knows? Actually don’t answer that.”

Ron has to bite his tongue to keep from apologising again. Draco is right, he has nothing to apologise for, even though he feels bad for freaking out Draco. It _ is _ beyond weird. 

“I can’t believe - but you’re  _ not _ together? Is he mental? Is he completely mental? Your arse is plum besotted with him and he hasn’t made an honest bloody man out of you?”

Ron doesn’t know how to answer any of those questions. “No?”

Draco nods a few times. “He’s a twat.”

_ “Draco.” _

“Don’t  _ Draco  _ me. You tell him to marry you or  _ something _ or I’ll - I’ll do it for you.”

Ron hisses, “Stay out of it. Are y - I thought you’d be more disgusted.”

“Oh I bloody am. I want to obliviate this entire thing from my brain. You’re also my idiotic frenemy - or whatever the hell you called it - and my father is being a twat to you.”

“I - I would call it virtuous. He wants to give me space before becoming a permanent fixture in my life.”

“My skinny arse,” Draco scoffs, “Gryffindors. Is that your excuse? Is that  _ it? _ He’s already integrated in every damn crevice of your life. He’s just bloody running away because that’s what a Slytherin does.”

“Bugger me, you’re right.”

“Just don’t snog him in front of me, alright? I will claw out my own eyeballs and bleed out. You’ll have to console Hermione.”

Ron figures he’s just being over-dramatic. At least, that’s what Ron hopes.

“Also I uninvited Percy Weasley to the wedding and any further functions and gatherings.”

  
_ Obviously, but,  _ “Thank the lord.”


End file.
